Shadow to My Sorrows
by Margo Vizzini-Montoya
Summary: In the bottom of Pandora's box, there was Hope. In the darkest moments of the Doctor's life, there is…Her.
1. The Lone Time-Lord

_**Shadow to My Sorrows**_

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 **Intro:** In the bottom of Pandora's box, there was Hope. In the darkest moments of the Doctor's life, there is… _Her._

 **Description:** an in-between-adventures tale across 9th/10th/11th/12th Doctors' timeline. There be some angst, friendship and comfort, and an inordinate amount of tea.

 **Disclaimer:** Not mine. So BBC's. Definitely, the brain-child of the story-telling genius Stephen Moffat, and all of his predecessors **.** I just couldn't resist and wanted to play in this sandbox too.

Enjoy ; )

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 **The Lone Time-Lord**

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The Doctor entered the La Bella Donna, the best kept secret Italian restaurant and a favorite of his Sixth self, and glanced around checking all exits, assessing all threats.

Old habits die hard, even when you die and are born anew apparently.

The sandy-haired hostess eyed him suspiciously, and he recalled that she had yet to meet this new face. When he flashed her his psychic paper, which displayed his membership card, her cool smile became much more welcoming.

"Table for one, sir?"

Before he could answer, a brisk female voice declared from behind him, "Make that a table for two, Lisa."

The Doctor whipped around too shocked at the audacity of this unwelcome chit to correct Lisa and laid eyes on a short, curly-haired brunette. Approximate age: just short of 30? She looked to be in the average post-graduate age range. She had tanned (or was it called mocha-tinted these days?) skin, big hazel brown eyes, and a placid yet determined expression.

He didn't know which was more outrageous – her brazen trespassing on his quiet solitary luncheon or the quiet confidence she had in herself while drowning in a too-large-for-her leather bomber jacket, which was doing a poor job of concealing her cocktail/night dress _thing_.

"Oh, you're the one that they all say has such big ears," this mysterious woman concluded after her own assessing perusal.

Yeah, that was the most outrageous thing.

Resisting the urge to check the size of the lobes in question, he spluttered, "What? I'd rather not, Li- Big ears?! Who?"

'Lisa' ignored him, and the mystery chit ignored him, choosing instead to follow after the hostess. It was only after they were halfway across the restaurant that she turned around and called impatiently over her shoulder, "Come along, Doctor."

Despite his annoyance at her high-handed manner, his curiosity got the better of him as always, and he followed them out to the patio – but not without assessing for hidden confederates who might ambush him. And he sat, but not without scanning for traps, pressure-plated bombs and the like.

As soon as their hostess left, he leaned forward and hissed, "Who are you?"

Setting her menu down, she cocked her head to the side, like a little bird doing her own curious examination. Finally, she mused, "Hmm…when you answer that, _Doctor,_ they either look baffled and ask more questions or react in accordance with whatever preconceived notion or prior experience they have of you."

"As you are not baffled, I take it you have some sort of 'preconceived notion' of who I am?"

She snorted and then enigmatically declared, " _I_ take it that we have not met yet."

Before he could respond to this, she continued with that infuriating calmness, "As it seems we have not, my name alone will not suffice to reassure you of my intentions. So what would you like to know? My race? My era of birth? My personality traits and quirks? How I relate to you and the grand scheme of things? My career and credentials? How I take my tea?"

"A name for starters. Your intentions for another. And how you know me, when I can't say I have had the pleasure of meeting you – if it is a pleasure," he bit out, not enjoying being toyed with.

Her big brown eyes darkened at his caustic tone. Her smile slid into a more natural – well, 'bittersweet grimace' was the best that he could come up with – and her voice softened, losing its brittle briskness, as she said, "Well, for that last bit, our relationship is timey-wimey in its chronological order."

While he mouthed disgustedly 'timey-wimey', she elaborated thoughtfully, "It is rather surprising really that this has not occurred to you more often, considering how much you jump around." She shrugged and added, "As a result, someone once called me your 'Alys' to my 'Mad Doctor in the Blue Box'."

"So your name is Alice?" he prodded.

"Alys. A-l-y-s," she corrected, "and it's _a_ name of mine. Although if you were to use that story as an analogy for us, I would say that right now I am Alice of the _Looking Glass_ meeting Hatter even before the _Adventures of Wonderland_."

"Ooh! I love those books!" chirped their server at his elbow.

He didn't bother looking at her, before giving his order, and he impatiently waited while A-l-y-s chatted with the woman about the house wine.

As soon as the server was gone, his mystery for-this-meal-only companion resumed her tale with:

"So, where would you like my story to start?"

"How about at the beginning?"

"But which beginning? When I first met you? Apparently that is still in your future," she challenged, and then more to herself, "When I first saw you? Hmmm…that will require some context."

"You'd think you would be a bit better prepared for this, if you've met me before."

"Hey, you only have your future self to blame for not giving me a heads up," she retorted, her eyes momentarily bright with her teasing before closing.

When they opened again, her gaze was steadfast, holding his captivated, as she began:

"Once upon a time, a long some-time both ago and many, many moons later, there was a girl cursed to be an Immortal, who traveled with a girl who was Forever Mortal – "

She paused to thank the server for her wine, and then continued, "'Forever Mortal' is not really an accurate description of her condition, but I am taking poetic license."

She paused yet again to try her wine, and when it seemed satisfactory, she finally resumed her tale for real, "Anyways, they traveled, just the two of them, all over time and space, having fantastic adventures, until one day, as a result of one of the Immortal's many trysts, a Child of the Vortex was conceived and born."

"A Child of the – ?"

"Shhh," she scolded, reaching up and tapping him on the nose.

Instinctively, he grabbed her arm, but she did not flinch. In fact, she simply stared at him unblinkingly, while with her free hand she picked up her glass of wine and sipped it. It was only until his grip loosened that she continued.

"These two women raised the girl together, telling her stories of their own adventures with the Last of the Time-Lords and his… _wife._ " (He nearly spat out his water at the word, causing her to smirk, but not to pause). "The girl became so enamored with the Duo that she longed to witness their Beginning, and so she traveled to Gallifrey, brilliantly circumventing its time-lock, and integrated herself into their society, finding work at the TARDIS repair shop."

"And while she waited for this pivotal moment, she met and fell in love with her very own Time-Lord, and because of her unique relationship with the Vortex, their union was able to bear fruit, a daughter of their very own, who was also raised on the tales of the Doctor. And who innocently shared them with his once, future, and always wife."

This time all he did was wrinkle his nose at the word and scowl skeptically at her, not that she noticed, as her gaze had become vacant as she got lost in these alleged memories.

"The Vortex Lady and her little Time-lass did get to witness the historical event of when Echo introduced what some would call an infamous pair, and it gave them such hope on the eve of the Great Time War."

There was a bittersweet smile tugging at the corner of her lips, as she sat there savoring her wine and gazing out, but past, the street. She did not at all seem to notice his discomfort at the mention of the War.

The Doctor did not say anything but let her sift through her memories in peace. It wasn't until after their server had come with their food and gone, that he finally prompted her with, regretfully, both a hint of cynicism and dread:

"And what happened to the pair between then and now?"

She nibbled on her garlic toast before setting it aside, sighing, "The Vortex Lady shielded her daughter until she could no more, and the lass was sent to her immortal Grand-mum, like a London child in the time of the Blitz."

"I'm sorry."

His pity and guilt caught her attention, her head snapping up, so that her dark eyes could scrutinize him, "For what?"

He did not know which offended him more – her seeming honest surprise, which should not be, if her claim to know him was true, or for the fact that she was pressuring him to say _it_ aloud.

When all he responded with was stony silence, she scoffed, "For ending the War? For making an impossible choice? _The_ impossible choice?"

Her minimization of his sacrificing billions of children caused his stony silence to bubble up with rage, like red-hot lava in an awakening volcano.

Before he could erupt however, she shifted gears yet again, declaring, "Well, you asked why I was here. I believe I was sent to tell you this:

"I lost loved ones, yes, for what you did. But I can honestly tell you that neither they, nor I, resent you for it. While we might have wished that there had been another way, you did not fail us – for you saved the universe.

"You have been and always will be – the Doctor."

She then glanced down at her plate and sighed, "Such a waste of food, but you have a Nestene Consciousness to hunt down, while I – have _other_ things to do."

And then in one swift fluid movement, she was standing up, leaning down, and kissing him on the cheek, "Until we meet again, Doctor."

And he did not know if that was a threat or a promise.

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 **A/N:** Questions, comments, thoughts? I would love to hear them : )

Next chapter: _Brideless_


	2. Brideless

_**Shadow to My Sorrows**_

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 **Bride-less**

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The Doctor glanced around the monument square, warily scanning for the 'Girl with the Red Bow-tie'.

This was not nearly as ominous as the 'Girl with Giant Reptilian Ink Stain' or whatever, but as he was not a taxi service, mysterious communications on his psychic paper (' _London. Trafalgar Square. Noon. 03/30/2007_ ') and signed with her gender and neckwear preference still screamed TRAP! to him.

When he finally spotted her, she did not present as much of a threat to him – unless you counted his fashion sense. In addition to the uncool neckwear, she wore a bizarre futuristic retro combo of a blue sundress, overlaid with a white buckled corset and brown knee-high boots to match the leather brown Vortex Manipulator on her left wrist. Her brown curls were loose yet held back from her face by early 20th century pilot goggles that were perched on her head like it was a hair band.

The whole ensemble lacked the casual sophistication of her last outfit, and just made her look... _young._ In fact, she might be a few years younger than when he last saw her. Still not as young as Rose though.

She glanced up from her contemplation of one of the lion statues and smiled … _sadly_ at him, as if she could see the pain of his loss of his fair-haired friend written all over his face. Perhaps, she could. This face was very expressive.

"Alys?" he inquired hesitantly. Aside from her more youthful appearance, he was somewhat taken aback that she recognized this new face of his. He also wondered what descriptor helped identify him to her, as he no longer had the 'big ears'.

"Hello, Doctor."

"You rang?" he asked, holding up his psychic paper. "How?"

"Oh yes. Sometime you gave – er, give – oi pretenses and time-travel! – You give me a page," she explained ruefully. With a shrug, she added, "And when you need me, a date, time, and place appears on it, and I respond with what I am wearing so that you can find me easier."

"But I didn't send – "

She cut off his bewildered protest with yet another shrug and sad, knowing smile, as she said, "You usually don't."

"Then who?"

"The one who always gets you where you _need_ to go."

He glowered at her for this unhelpful and highly enigmatic reply. He couldn't help but sneer as he queried skeptically, "My once-future-always wife?"

"Yes."

When that looked to be all that he was going to get out of her, he grumbled, "You aren't going to tell me who she is, are you?"

"Yes."

"Yes, you aren't, or yes, you are?" he attempted to clarify.

She met his gaze head on, and he swore her eyes twinkled with mischief and barely suppressed amusement, before she ended their little stand-off with, "Not. Yes. Whatever."

Over his complaints of 'clear as mud, you are', she hastened to tease, "But that is not the question you should be asking me."

"No?"

She shook her head, "No."

 _Not a 'yes', hallelujah!_

"Then what should I be asking?"

"Why does she think you _need_ to be here?"

"With you?"

'Alys' rolled her eyes, and hissed exasperatedly, "Yes."

He eyed her speculatively. He was not sure if he wished to waste more time on a mysterious 'wife' and a mysterious girl, with a too fantastical to be believable (even for him) origin story and an impossible mission.

But then again…

"Okay, I'll bite," he declared. "Why?"

She, of course, did not just come out and say it, but observed offhandedly, "You probably have by now been told that you _should not_ be alone."

 _A girl in a wet white wedding gown standing in the snow…_

 _'Promise me one thing. Find someone.'_

 _'I don't need anyone.'_

 _'Yes, you do. 'Cause sometimes, I think, you need someone to stop you.'_

He rocked back on his heels, resisting the urge to cross his arms defensively, as he declared carelessly, "Oh, it might have been mentioned in passing."

The petite, bizarrely dressed girl looked at him knowingly, "Well, you need to know that you are not alone, and will never be, even when you think you want to be. Friends, old and new, will find you."

"Like you?" he challenged.

"Yes," she smiled, and then contradicted, "No."

Granted she only smirked when he scowled at her amendment, but it was a very annoying expression. No one had felt this free to tease him except for –

Except for Rose.

Into his bitter musings that Rose could never be one of those old friends, Alys fervently declared, "And, oh Doctor, you will have so many adventures! And when the Roses and all like her come and go – not one of them will curse you for being in their lives, as mad as those lives will become. And not one of them will want you to protect them by secluding yourself away from them."

"How would you know? Rose is gone to another universe, and so many others…" he retorted bitterly, not quite able to finish that thought. Narrowing his eyes, he fixed her with a hard scathing glare, as he accused, "You just know this bedtime, fairy tale story of me. I am – "

"You are what?" she fired back, clearly not going to take his remarks lying down. "The 'Oncoming Storm'? The 'Destroyer of Daleks and Time-Lords' alike? Death and Peril's 'Adversary', 'Companion', and 'Instrument'? Yes, I know."

Well that admission took the rug right out from under him.

Before he could form a response though, her gaze softened, and she whispered, "And you know."

 _No kidding._

More firmly, she argued, "But what you need to remember and know is that _you are loved_ and _not alone_."

She held his gaze, willing him to believe her, as the crowds of tourists and native Londoners swept passed them. He had the feeling that she would chose to stand there with him until he did, even if the Daleks and Cybermen decided to have another territorial pissing contest.

He was about to make a quip about 'not blinking', when...

 _Beep!_

"A message alert," she explained with a sigh, reluctantly taking her gaze from his to root around in her sundress's pockets.

Instead of pulling out a phone, she had in her hand her psychic paper. As soon as she glanced at its contents, her annoyed frown changed to a grin.

A grin that was decidedly cheeky, when she glanced up at him. "Oh well, what do you know? There seems to be interesting electrical activity around the Royal Hope Hospital. I wonder what that is all about?"

Without waiting for an answer, she shot him another grin, waved, and then tapped her Manipulator and disappeared.

The Doctor stared at her vacated spot, and then glanced in the general direction of the hospital, which he knew to be about a mile away.

He almost walked away.

And then…

Well, it occurred to him that it couldn't hurt to look. At worst, he would spot the trap and his worst suspicions of Alys would be confirmed, and at best, he would either reunite with an old friend or make a new one.

"Oh what the hell? _Allonsy!_ "

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 **A/N:** Thoughts? Feedback? Favorite Line?

More background on Girl with the Red Bow-tie coming soon in: _Smith sans Jones_


	3. Smith sans Jones

_**Shadow to My Sorrows**_

* * *

 **Smith sans Jones**

* * *

 _Christmas Eve, 2008_

The Doctor stopped unlocking the TARDIS to glance back and call out to the skipping like a loon old gent, "Um, where are you going?"

Mr. Copper chuckled (quite giddily), "Why, I have no idea!"

More to himself, than to his fellow _Titanic_ survivor, he murmured, "No, me neither."

Just as he was about to step into the TARDIS, Mr. Copper called back, "But, Doctor! ... I won't forget her."

'Her' being Astrid, of course. The Girl who Wanted to See the Stars. All he could do was nod and glance up at the sky. It might have been his imagination, but he could have sworn that he saw a blue streak of light zigzagging away into the heavens. Perhaps, it was fanciful wishing, but perhaps not.

He looked back at Mr Copper and smiled wistfully at the sight of him still joyfully skipping away, and he wished him a 'Merry Christmas', as he finished stepping inside his TARDIS.

As soon as he did and before he could get to the console, it began to dematerialize.

"What?!" he cried and dashed to see what the Old Girl was up to.

And no matter what swivel, switch, lever, or button he tried, she still carried on her merry way.

"Well, I may not know where I am going, but you certainly seem to," he muttered, somewhat petulantly. His frown deepened even more, when he caught himself mid-glance to where Martha or Rose would have, and Astrid could have, been. They all would have laughed at him and his inability to fly his own 'space-ship'.

When they landed, he frowned even further when he saw the coordinates and date on the display.

It was still London, but now he was in the Kensington Gardens. It was ten and a half years later – June 23rd, 2019.

And more importantly, it was a _Sunday_.

"A Sunday?! A _Sunday_! But _nothing_ happens on a Sunday!"

The TARDIS of course said nothing. And that is all that he thought that he was going to get out of her, but then the screen lit up and displayed the exterior camera's view.

For a moment, it was just the Peter Pan statue and the hazy lazy afternoon sunshine.

And then the next…

A girl. Appearing from seemingly nowhere. Hunched over and – he turned on the outside microphones – yes, his suspicions were confirmed. She was hunched over and crying.

His gaze flickered from the screen's image to the silent and still console and back again. Out of all the sad, little girls. Out of all time and space, his TARDIS picked this one. Huh _._

With another puzzled frown at the TARDIS' console, he shed his winter coat and stepped outside into the bright barely-summer sunshine.

As he cautiously approached, he noted that she was wearing jeans and a purple graphic tee. She also wore bright ruby red and silver running shoes, as if instead of clicking her heels together, she expected to be able to run home all on her own.

Of course, she didn't need any kind of magic shoes, when he could see on her wrist a vortex manipulator. If her sudden appearance and mop of curly brown hair hadn't clued him into who she was, that bit of space hopper tech certainly did.

"Alys?" he asked gently.

When she did not respond, but continued to sob, he asked more urgently, "Alys, are you alright? Is it your Grandmum or her friend?"

The girl's head whipped up from her crossed arms that had been hugging her knees, and she scrambled to her feet and scowled at him. After eyeing him up and down, she challenged defiantly, "Who the bloody hell are you? And what do you know of _them?"_

While she had been assessing him, he had done the same with her.

She was more conventionally dressed (although her T-shirt's quotes of being 'shiny' and 'big damn heroes', and 'aiming to misbehave' might be pushing the limit on that one). She was still short. Her hair was still a riotous mess. Her cheeks were streaked with tears; her nose was all red and splotchy. And she was decidedly _young._ The Doctor judged her to be about ten years younger than when he last saw her, so fifteen Earth-years, perhaps – womanly curvy, but still baby-faced. And apparently, she had never met him. Crikey.

He shrugged, and calmly answered her questions, "I'm the Doctor, and all I know of them is what you tell me."

Her big brown eyes widened even further in shock at his introduction. In fact, he was a bit concerned that they would pop out of her head, even though he knew that was scientifically impossible.

When she found her voice, she blurted incredulously, "'The Doctor'? _The_ Doctor?"

He nodded.

Her fists clenched at her side, and he waited for something – what he did not know – but her stark demand for him to "Prove it" certainly was not it.

He gave her insistent request the consideration it was due. She was not yet the annoying know-it-all he had already met, but was a young girl in distress. She did not deserve the cheeky snark that he was tempted to retort with.

Instead, he pulled out his sonic screwdriver and aimed it at her wrist, and within seconds, the space-hopper finished its scan for life-signs – specifically two-hearted life-signs.

She stared at it, stared at him, and then muttered, "I don't know why you call me 'Alice'. But today, I am 'Achlys', and it is _not_ a day for running about." And with that she promptly sat down again, wrapping her arms around her knees and staring blankly at the statue.

He in turn stared down at her – surprised and somewhat disturbed. 'Achlys', if his old Greek mythology hadn't gotten rusty, was the 'personification of sadness and misery'.

Well, if misery loves company, then a fine pair they would make. After experiencing the Year-that-Never-Was, he was certainly no messenger of hope.

Plopping down next to her, he declared glibly, "Of course not! It's a Sunday. Nothing happens on a Sunday. So where would we run off to?"

Achlys scowled even more so at him. (How her future-selves didn't have wrinkles was beyond him.) Apparently not appreciating his cavalier attitude, she inquired irritably, "Which Doctor are you?"

"I'm the rude one," he beamed proudly, just to get her goat. Grumpy, he found sometimes, was better than sad.

Achlys snorted, "From what I hear that doesn't really narrow it down."

With a sigh, he relented, "I'm the Tenth."

She eyed him up and down again, before nodding, "The skinny sandshoe-wearing Spaceman."

"Oi! Not sandshoes!" he protested.

There was a slight twitch of the corner of her lips, an almost smile, and then it was gone.

They sat in silence for a while. She seemed to be staring at the long shadow that the statue made, watching it grow longer and longer as the Earth turned. He wondered if he should offer to make her a cuppa. But he did not know what kind of tea she liked as she had never told him. He wondered if he asked now, whether her answer would tell him more about her or not. There had been some sort of British research study done on that in… Oh what was that year? Century? He wondered if he should invite her into the TARDIS. If he wanted another companion yet so soon after Martha. If …

"So I take it that you have met Donna then?"

It took him a moment, but he finally recalled the very angry red-headed bride bellowing that epithet at him as she squashed herself into a cab.

"Met, saved from giant arachnid and her offspring, and she is now off traveling on her own. Like you, she did not wish to go running with me."

"I – It's not that – it's just that – " she stammered and then sighed. "I just lost my home. My mother managed to get me away before – before you … and I just had to meet my Grandmum for the first time, and I had to tell her that her – that my – that _she_ , her only daughter in over a millennia is dead, killed – killed by Daleks…"

And then she was bursting into another round of gut-wrenching sobs and throwing herself at him. She threw herself _at him_ – the man who failed to save her mother and killed the rest of the family she knew and who knows how many of her friends, aside from _all of them._

Beyond startled, he wrapped his arms around her, and while she cried into his shoulder, he awkwardly stroked her back, pat-rubbing it in as soothing of a manner as he could master in his befuddlement.

The know-it-all Alys could give him as many pretty speeches as she could until she was TARDIS blue in the face, and he would doubt her sincerity.

But this poor, distraught girl, who had yet to learn how to mask her emotions, could in no way seek comfort from the man she blamed for the deaths of her loved ones – and certainly not after it had just happened. So she truly must not blame him. He stared down at her in bewildered awe.

2.47 billion children on Gallifrey may have died in that one Moment. But at least one got away.

Today, he could at least be grateful for that.

* * *

 _To be continued..._

* * *

 **A/N:** Liked? Loved? Have suggestions for improvement? Want to prove what a Whovian you are and can list all the episodes referenced here? Want to prove how much a nerd you are and list the other sci-fi/fantasy references? You know what to do : - ) All feedback welcome and greatly appreciated.


	4. A Sunday Tea Party

_**Shadow to My Sorrows**_

* * *

 **A Sunday Tea Party**

* * *

Eventually, her sobbing subsided again, and he invited her into the TARDIS.

She took one look around its a lá natural interior with its tree-like pillars and honeycomb golden lights – and did not comment upon its size.

Of course, she didn't. She grew up in a TARDIS repair shop. Her Grandmum was mucking about the universe in her own Sexy. Scratch that. 'Grandmum' and 'Sexy', same sentence, never ever again.

While he had some regret that he wouldn't be having that first TARDIS ever experience with her, he found himself more than anxious to hear how his Old Girl compared to the others she knew.

"Whoa! You definitely diverged from the bright white, clean and pristine look. It's very – It's very …"

"It's very what?" he asked curiously.

"Not 'grunge'."

When she stopped her second or third look around to glance at him, he beamed, "No, she's not 'grunge' at all."

She smiled just as enthusiastically back at him, declaring, "Nope, but it's definitely got a superbly imaginative vibe thing going for it."

And with that announcement made, she wandered up to the console, where she began to run her hands over it - almost as if she was petting it. And then, smiling fondly, she whispered, "Hello, old friend. Did you miss me?"

And to his amazement, the lights dimmed and flickered. And in the gloom, he could see that the display lit up briefly, but he was at the wrong angle to see what was there.

Achlys could though, and she laughed softly, murmuring, "It's been that long then? Well, I bet you had quite the many adventures, and just like I told you."

And the lights dimmed and flickered _again._

The Doctor found himself to be a little more than a bit astonished, and quite a lot bit jealous.

 _His_ TARDIS liked her. More than that, she communicated with her. And why not? They had a history together, even before he had 'borrowed' her. This child had told her bedtime stories and Doctor-fairy tales to her.

Before his head could explode with the implications of this, he cleared his throat and asked, "Um…how do you like your tea?"

She glanced up and thankfully quit petting the console, as she replied with a shrug, "Oh, I don't know. I have never had tea before. At least not the Earth kind."

He grinned, "Oh well, you're in for a treat. Step this way."

He led her to his kitchen, and was pleased to see her appreciative expression for its retro ships-galley look and wasn't at all affronted by her quiet comment of 'Cozy'.

He then spent the next half hour lecturing on the various kinds of tea – green tea, black tea, herbal, China versus India, their properties, flavors, strengths, and so forth. (The fact that it was all very Hatter-like was not lost on him.) At the end of which, his not-quite-yet Alys decided upon an orange and spices black tea blend.

While she was developing a new addiction (the beatific smile was a dead giveaway), he asked, "So, Miss Achlys, would you like to join me on my next adventure?"

"I would," she said after taking another sip of tea, but her admission lacked the enthusiasm he had expected, and her beatific smile slipped and morphed into something more wistful.

"I am sensing a 'but'," he noted.

She set her cup aside with a sigh, " _But_ my Grandmum needs me right now, and it would be horrible of me to go and leave her to gallivant after you, just like my mum did."

Selfishly, he argued, "In the past, when you have popped into my life, you have always said that you come when I need you, so that I'll know I won't be alone."

"Do I?" she asked curiously. "All back to front and criss-cross like?"

"Yes."

"Hmm…how very much like – "

"Like?" he prompted.

She grinned, "Ooh! Spoilers!"

At his scowl and muttered, 'oh this is how the monster is made', she laid her hand on his and said, "Some things I suspect I won't be able to tell you, not even hints. I know too much of your future already, and paradoxes are a bitch. But I can tell you this – "

She paused until his gaze met hers, and he was surprised to see how wise they looked. He shouldn't be though. She was among the handful of survivors of the worst war the universe has ever known.

When she saw that she had his attention, she prophesied, "You are not alone, and you won't be companion-less for very much longer."

"Oh yeah?" He asked softly, trying not to flinch at the echo of Ol' Boe-Face's warning of the Master.

"Yeah," she confirmed with a grin.

She then went about tidying up and placing her cup in the Cleanser – knowing exactly where it was, and she made her way to the main console room without any false turns. His TARDIS first kidnapped him to bring him to her, and now she was letting the girl go without any of her cheeky shenanigans. He did not know what to make of it.

Quickly trotting to catch up, he asked far too breezily, "So any idea where I should go?"

"No, and if I did, why would I tell you?" she called over her shoulder, even as she headed for the door.

"I dunno," he shrugged, before wheedling, "The last few times you gave me a bit of a hint though."

This had the desired effect. She paused in her progress and leaned against the entry way, her brow furrowing in contemplation. He swore that he could literally hear her thinking, _'Think. Think. Think.'_

"Hmmm…So you're Ten… and on your own. Which means this is after Rose and…"

"After Martha, yeah. And the Master," he supplied quietly.

At this, she was pulled out of her momentary reverie, and she gazed at him pityingly, breathing softly, "Oh, I _am_ sorry, Doctor."

He shifted uncomfortably, and asked (not entirely sure he wanted to know the answer), "What for?"

"Well, for one, my heart always broke for you when my mother would tell me that tale – the Time-Lord who could never forget the Year Everyone Else Did."

"And for another?"

"And for another…" here, her brown eyes brightened mischievously once again, as she taunted, "Not one hint."

Happy to be on more familiar ground, (banter, he could do banter), he begged, "What? Not even a teensy teaser?"

She laughed. "You may not know me very well yet, Doctor, but one thing you should know – I, unlike you, do not unwrap, sneak-a-peak, and rewrap my Christmas gifts, nor do I tear off the wrapping on Christmas morn. I am the child who revels in the anticipation and painstakingly pulls the paper away to reveal the hidden wonder."

He rolled his eyes, and then he dryly predicted, "Hmm…well, you are going to be disappointed in this."

"In what?" she asked cautiously.

The Doctor reached into his pocket and declared dramatically, "In this", as he presented her a small bill-fold with a scrap of paper in it.

Immediately recognizing it, she exclaimed, "Psychic paper?! Why would I be disappointed in that? Space Vegas, here I come!"

"What? That's not what I meant! And that's not what it's meant for!" he protested, attempting to snatch it back, but she agilely danced away. "I just meant … it's not wrapped, so therefore, disappointment."

She smirked, amused by his appalled expression, "Okay then, if not for a teenage minor to have a fake I.D. when needed, why are you giving it to me?"

"Because that's how you know when you are needed and where to come find me," he explained exasperatedly.

Instead of being amazed by his cleverness, or simply grateful for the gift, the girl glared and wrathfully accused, "So I am your back-up companion girl? I just come at your beck and call?"

"I don't – It's not me," he hastily defended.

"Oh," she huffed. Her righteous indignation deflating in an instant, but instead of relief, it was replaced with disappointment.

Would he ever be able to predict her reactions? Was her mercurial moods characteristic of her? Or could they be chalked up to her youthful adolescence and/or recent trauma?

"Achlys, don't be like that," he pleaded softly, and in an attempt to reassure her that he did want her company, he reminded her gently, "I did just ask you to join me, and you're the one who turned _me_ down."

She seemed to accept this, and moved on, asking curiously, "Okay, if not you, then who?"

"I don't know. You tell me," he answered grumpily, and then almost as an afterthought, "when you figure it out."

Her eyes twinkled (no fool, this one), as she mused, "Hmm…perhaps."

The Doctor snorted. He knew that right then she had decided to tell him, if only in some obscure riddle. But as disgruntled as he was at this, he was relieved to see her smile once again. It was so much better than her tears.

His almost-Alys tucked the bill-fold into her pocket, bobbed up to kiss his cheek, and promised, "Thanks, Doctor. You were here, when I needed you. I'll be sure to return the favor."

And then a bob out the door, a _tap-tap_ at her wrist, and she was gone.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thoughts?


	5. The Twilight Run

_**Shadow to My Sorrows**_

* * *

 **The Twilight Run**

* * *

 _Ebenezer Station, 4240_

The Doctor kicked back in his chair, propped his trainers on the railing, and gazed up through the uber-thick plexi-glass to stare at the universe – specifically Galaxy S.L. A55-H013.

And he giggled. He couldn't help it. It was the most unfortunate of designations. And he was the slightest bit tipsy.

His newfound friend was off searching for a colleague's secret stash of rum, which was causing him to hum a pirate-themed sea shanty, and he was alone with his thoughts. This is _never_ a good thing.

Fortunately for him (and the universe in general), his musings were interrupted by a raspy curse and a muttered, "Oh dear Doctor, I am too old for this."

He swiveled around to find: a woman.

In particular, she appeared to be a humanoid female, dressed in a bluey-green poncho, dark slacks, and sensible orthopedic shoes, minus the bedazzled gemstones that decorated them. They glittered as she picked her way through the charred aftermath of the averted catastrophe and the subsequent celebrations and made her way over to him with the assistance of her carved driftwood cane.

He subtly scanned her for a perception filter, zipper in the forehead, and any and all alien tech. And by all that he held dear, he wished it was one of the first two.

But no, she was exactly as she appeared – a humanoid female with silvery ringlets that starkly contrasted with her bronzed face which was wrinkled with both frowny furrows and laughy lines. And she had a Vortex Manipulator on her left wrist.

When Alys drew near, her eyes narrowed to a squint. She took in his expression (or rather his series of expressions – shock, horror, sadness, and lastly his discomfort-because-I-don't-want-to-say-anything-rude-but-I-don't-know-how-not-to-and-can't-seem-to-stop-myself expression). Finally, she grimaced and huffed, "Yes, I know. You were right. My face got stuck this way."

Instead of quipping with something along the lines of 'well, I usually am' or remarking on how sadly bizarre it was to have just seen her as a youthful teen and now be – er – wise-grandma, he decided to aim for the heart of the matter.

"I wondered if I would get a chance to say goodbye to you."

She scrutinized him sharply for a minute, huffed again, and then slowly eased herself into the chair next to his. When she was settled, she finally responded with a dry, "Saying your goodbyes are you? What is this then your farewell tour?"

"I get to have farewell tour? That is good to know." He grinned, partly because he liked the idea, and partly because she hardly ever let slip things from his future.

She scowled, and he could see why in his future and her past, he told her that her face would freeze that way.

"When is this for you?"

The kindness and the sadness in her voice disarmed him, and he found himself answering rather wistfully, "Donna's gone. Rose is gone _again_. The Ood tell me that I am going to die soon, and I got to meet Adelaide Brooke. I am ashamed to say that I did not make a favorable impression." And then because he could not have himself end on a bad note, he added curiously, "Do you have a blue diary too?"

She shook her silvery head, with a small smile, "No, I do not. Being raised on stories of you told by your friends and not your enemies makes it far easier to keep track." Even more gently, she said, "And I am sorry about dear Dr. Donna and Rose."

He shrugged, "Yeah, well, I am told that all things must come to an end, but it was marvelous to see her again. I hadn't expected Rose to be one of those 'old friends' who you promised would find me."

Her smile returned, and it grew even wider when she took in the room. There was the giant long-range telescope for observing celestial phenomena far far away at one end, three shorter-range telescopes evenly spaced at the other end for the observing more immediate phenomena like the surrounding asteroid field, and all sorts of displays and monitoring equipment in between, some of which were acting as tabletops for the party's aftermath of empty beer and ale bottles. When her perusal of her surroundings fixated on the empty bottles around him, she asked dryly, "So what is the occasion?"

His own grin returned, as he immediately launched into his explanation. "Well, I just popped in to have a healthy and _creative_ debate with the astronomer here. It's Sun Li, you know, the one who – oh, let's just say if I have my way, he won't be naming his newly discovered galaxy S.L. A55H013, which just automatically leads anyone who has a juvenile sense of humor to call it the Ass-hole of Sun Li Galaxy. And that's a blooming shame, more than that actually, as it has 3 of the 7 Intergalactic Treasures of the Universe, and – "

"And what exactly happened when you got here?" she cut into his ramble, trying to look like a grandma scolding an errant school boy, but failing with that knowing mischievous twinkle in her eyes. He just bet if she was a grandma, that she snuck them treats or helped hide the evidence of mishaps, when the parents weren't looking. She obviously let them bedazzle her shoes.

"Er, not much," he shrugged, trying to downplay his adventure. He was however unable to resist a chance to brag, so he continued, "Just the mining station that Sun Li's observatory is attached to was having some severe systems malfunctions due to a corporate big wig cutting back on safety measures…and I was able to keep the station from blowing up, with Mr. Li's assistance. The miners wished to buy us a round or two or ten of their local grog in thanks, which led to us drinking them under the table. Sun Li has a surprising amount of tolerance and is off to find the corrupt corporate man's secret stash of Earth rum, so that we can be properly libated while we debate a more appropriate name for his galaxy."

"It is a pity that I wasn't here for the fun," she drolled, and then with a sniff, she added sternly, "But I can see why she sent for me _now._ You may be full-blooded Time-lord and enjoy all the wonders of its metabolism, but alcohol is still a depressant and dis-inhibitor."

"I am trying to outrun my expiration date. I am not going to off myself," he scoffed.

"No, but bad decisions can be made while heavily under the influence and grieving. That's why there are things like designated drivers and buddy systems," she scolded. So not the kind of grandma who lets the kiddies get away with murder.

Not liking being on the receiving end of her tongue-lashing as it was seriously killing his buzz, he retorted, "Your age is showing."

Instead of taking umbrage at his rude comment, she held out her hands, which not only looked gnarled with wrinkles and dappled with sunspots, but they also looked thin…almost translucent, and sighed, "Wearing a bit thin, I know…time runs out for us all."

He stared at her hands. Her words rang in his ears, over and over again. The implications were devastating. Her body's time was running out. She had not just been brought here for him to say goodbye to her, but for her to also say goodbye to him.

Over his mental shrieking, he could hear her murmur, "Doctor, tell me. Are you as scared as I am?"

Her question broke his hearts. She sounded just like that lost little girl that he met in Kensington Park. So instead of the false bravado that he usually ran with, he gave her the honest answer she deserved and needed.

"Yeah, I don't know who I will be. Or what I will become. I just don't want to go."

She reached over and grabbed his hand, giving it a faint squeeze as she softly admitted, "Neither do I."

~D~

They sat in mutual companionable silence for a while, leaning back and gazing up and out into the stars, lost in their thoughts and many memories.

But like all things, even this must end.

She broke it with a soft chuckle.

"What?"

"I dunno. I was just wondering…Have you gotten married yet?"

"Er, no. At least not this version of me…" He admitted bewilderedly, and with far more trepidation than he would like, he asked, "Do I?"

He really wished he hadn't, for she answered slyly, "Hmmm… possibly…the memory is going a bit…One of your incarnations gets married three times…or you do once and he does twice...Either way, he was a bit of a man-slut, and from a certain point of view… a polygamist."

 _Three. Times. Three!_ Why in the world would she tell him that? He had just admitted that he was scared of finding out what his new body would be like. And this cruel woman tells him _that_.

Somehow, he was able to keep his voice cool and even as he observed, "You know, a woman I once met would call that a 'spoiler'."

She laughed, taunting cheekily, "You're going to hate that word."

Well, if she was going to be in such a revealing mood…

"She knew my name," he told her softly.

The know-it-all minx was unmoved. She merely smiled like the cat who ate the canary, and affirmed with an extra pop to her 'p', "Ye _p_."

He didn't care who said it. Imitation is not the sincerest form of flattery.

"You never did tell me your real name, Achlys, Alys, whoever," he challenged.

"I know. Infuriating, isn't it?" she fired right back, still grinning. She was no doubt referring to his refusal to tell her or anyone else (except apparently River Song) his name.

He had his reasons. He also knew that as a child of Gallifrey, she had to know at least one of the reasons why he could not speak his name. But if she wanted to be petty, so could he.

"And just for that, I am naming this galaxy… ' _Alison_ '," he teased.

And being the mature individual she was, she stuck her tongue out at him, and then laughed.

It was at this point that Sun Li finally made his appearance, victorious with a bottle of rum. He was a bit disappointed that he had to share with a mysterious stranger, but it did not take much more for him to pass out.

They draped the blanket from his locker over him, and then finished the bottle between them, toasting to lives filled with glorious running.

When it was gone and the sun's light began to illuminate the asteroid field around them, she reached over and stroked his face with her nearly translucent hand, saying softly, "You know, you are the first Doctor this face got to see, and I am glad that these old eyes got to see you one more time."

He leaned into her touch, but he could not bring himself to say the words that needed to be said.

And so she said it for them both, before tap-tapping her space-hopper, and disappearing, for her, one final time.

"Until we meet again, Doctor."

* * *

 **A/N:**

Doctor Whoniverse trivia: setting inspired by Tenth's comments to Ood about naming a galaxy 'Alison' in beginning of _End of Time Part 1_

Anywho, thoughts?


	6. The Good Samaritan

_**Shadow to My Sorrows**_

* * *

 **The Good Samaritan**

* * *

 _London, Spring 1878_

Without stopping his mad-dash post midnight run, the Doctor examined the highly perplexing readings on his screwdriver. The signal for the large cold-blooded being should not be growing fainter as he drew closer. _'Unless of course they've evolved to have super-speed, but even then it wouldn't be this erratic…'_

His train of thought was of course stopped when he stopped, or rather was stopped, when he collided into a woman, knocking her straight onto her bustled behind.

Trying to overcome his tendencies to be rude, he started to apologize as he helped the woman to her feet. However, as soon as he recognized her, all good intentions went flying out the proverbial window and into the Vortex.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

'Here' was outside of the construction zone for a soon-to-be tube station of the ever-expanding London Underground.

And here before him was Alys, a few years older than the fifteen year-old 'Achlys', so perhaps in her early twenties. Or the same age as when he met her in Trafalgar Square. So a little older than Amy? It was difficult to tell at this stage.

She was less outlandishly dressed though. This time, she wore a blue ruffle-trimmed bodice, a blue and gray skirt over several layers of petticoats, sensible (for the Victorian-era) walking boots, and her brown curls pinned-up in what once might have been an elegant knot prior to their collision.

She was too busy ignoring his hand and getting to her feet herself and dusting off her skirt to recognize him, and she was midway through her irritated protest of "I beg your par- !" before she did.

She eyed him up and down and then rolled her eyes, muttering, "Oh, it's you," apparently equally consternated at his presence as he was hers. _So perhaps not summoned by 'the wife'?_

"If you must know, Grandmum was being a bit much, and so I popped off to my favorite pub," she explained, finally answering his earlier question. (She did smell a bit yeasty from being in close proximity to and imbibing strong mead.) " _And_ I was pulled away from a nice chat with my favorite bar wench, when this started sending cryptic messages."

The Doctor glanced at the psychic paper that she was waving in front of his face, and his theory that she had not been summoned by 'the wife' followed his previously mentioned good intentions. For there he read rather insistent directions: _'Leave now. Head East 2 blocks, turn left'_ and so it went until her bustle-bender with him.

When he handed it back to her, she asked curiously, "So what are you doing here, Doctor?"

"How do you know it's me?" He queried equally curious, as he had, after all, regenerated since the last time she saw him (that he knew of).

"Chin" was her prompt, unabashed reply.

He scowled at her shameless grin, but could not help but pat at the much commented upon body part, self-consciously whining, "Is it really that bad?"

She rolled her eyes at his display of vanity, and prompted, " _Doctor_ , why – are – you – "

"Oh, right! There has been a series of deaths of tunnel workers for the stations, and I am investigating."

Now that he was reminded of his momentarily forgotten task, he glanced down to re-examine the unusual readings, but was once again interrupted.

This time by frantic shouts for help – coming from the shut down for the night construction area.

Without thinking he reached back to grab Alys' hand to pull her with him. But she wasn't there.

No, instead, she was on his other side, one hand bunching up her skirts to better run in, and the other grabbing his other arm to drag _him_ with _her_.

With a grin, he picked up his pace, and they charged towards the source of the commotion.

They dodged safety barriers, pipes and rails, and sharp pointy construction bobs and bits. They plowed through dust-covered and plaster-pasted sheeting, and they all but stumbled upon a _very_ young, thin waif of a brunette kneeling over a still, bloody form.

 _'Well, that explains why the readings were growing fainter – blood loss.'_

Without so much as a howdy-do, he pointed his sonic at the nearest light increasing its brightness magnitude, threw himself down beside the waif, and curtly barked, "Back away! I'm the Doctor."

He ignored her bewildered question of " _the_ Doctor?", while he busily went about his business of examining the unconscious and somewhere injured Silurian, who appeared to be – yep – female. He did however, half-listen to her babbled explanation, catching the important bits.

"I was on my way to – " ( _blah, blah_ ) "– when I saw a group of boys, or could have been men, kicking at something and then running off, like –" ( _blah, blah_ ) .

As he searched for external wounds, he overhead Alys asking, "And so you came to investigate?" He mentally noted that it was not an incredulous question, but one made more out of…pride. Yes, 'pride' was the right word. An interesting important bit. Somehow she knew this, or of this, urchin.

"I thought it was a dog, but –" ( _blah, blah_ ) – "What is it? Will it live?"

"Silurian. _She_ 's Silurian. And she might if you just _shhh_ …"

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Alys giving a reassuring glance to the girl, while simultaneously scanning the area. He hoped she was on the lookout for not just the possible return of ruffians but also for other potential witnesses. As progressive as the Victorian Era might have been in some aspects, species inclusivity certainly was not one of them.

For their benefit and just so they would not interrupt his examination with further questions, he muttered aloud, "She has a pulse. There are no apparent knife wounds." He scanned her and checked the dilation of her pupils, noting, "but certainly a massive concussion and internal bleeding."

More decisively, he declared, "Alright I need her to get to my TARDIS now. I might have something there."

As he stooped to pick up the battered Silurian, Alys was already moving, pulling her charcoal cloak off to help cover her, and briskly asking, "Where is it?"

"A block over from where the station entrance will be, in a little snookaway, past the bakery."

Apparently this was sufficient enough information, because she immediately spun on her booted heels and took the lead. And if that did not raise his estimation of her, her rapid but judicious pace – fast enough for their urgent need but not enough to draw undue attention – certainly did. She would also stop at corners to make sure there would be no interfering bobbies or busybodies.

It was all going fairly well until they got to the TARDIS door and he realized that his hands were full. He couldn't even snap the doors open.

"Can you, er?" he asked shamefacedly.

Mercifully, she didn't roll her eyes or point out that valuable time wouldn't be wasted and awkwardness avoided if he had also given her a TARDIS key along with the psychic paper. She just simply asked, "Where is your key?"

"Inside jacket pocket, left."

She swiftly rooted around and retrieved it, and unlocked the door. And he tried not to take too much satisfaction in the thought that despite her childhood friendship with the time-and-space-traveling blue box, his Old Girl still wouldn't let anyone else but him in without a key.

He shoved past her, gently deposited his patient on the clear glass floor near the console, and then began rummaging around for the appropriate and necessary vial. While he did so, he resumed his muttering.

"I have poor – no, not poor – _limited_ supplies for cold-blooded reptilian-based species…They typically avoid me as I look too Ape-like to them…That, and they are too sensible to put up with my non-sense. No, it's humans who go cavorting about with the Mad-man and his blue box, so I have far more mammalian remedies…"

"Ah-hah!" he exclaimed when he finally found the vial of violet-hued viscous fluid. "This might do the trick. It might not. This is no hospital, but I think it will work."

He turned around after administering the substance, and realized for the first time that he and Alys were not alone. The dark-haired, pale-faced girl was standing there, and well, 'stunned-faced' seemed a fitting description. Her dark eyes were wider and her pale face paler than before. 'Speechless' also worked as her mouth, while open, was quieter than before as well.

He amusedly watched as she glanced around, then between him and Alys, and down again to the Silurian patient on his floor. But was quite flabbergasted, when she placidly inquired, "So she's a 'cold-blooded reptilian-based species'? What like an evolved sewer-crocodile?"

He found himself blinking at her a few times, looking to Alys (who was silently laughing at him), and blinking some more. Finally, he cleared his throat and declared, "Well, points to you for not screaming 'monster' and taking the more enlightened perspective. I would love to hear what your take is on my ship, er…?"

"Jenny," she supplied.

"Jenny," he repeated as he mentally filed that a way, before continuing, "But not just now. Now, could you follow my friend, Alys, here?" To her, he asked, "Will you go set up the patient's room?"

Alys nodded and struck out for the correct corridor, because of course she would, even though she had gotten quite the makeover since the Gardens.

As soon as the pair disappeared around the corner, Alys' explanation of the origins of Silurians carrying behind her, he began to disrobe the warrior woman. He had been reluctant to do so earlier, while there were prying curious bystander eyes, but as that was no longer the case, he felt that he could give her a more thorough and dignified examination.

When he was done, he wrapped her up in Alys' cloak and carried her to the room in which the two women had efficiently prepped. A full-sized bed with clean sheets and (sadly but practically) restraints, neatly tucked away but available if necessary.

When he got her settled on the bed (sans restraints), the girl – no, _Jenny_ , asked concernedly, "Will she be alright?"

He shrugged, "We will just have to wait and see."

* * *

 _To be continued..._

* * *

 **A/N:** Yay! First part of a full Alys-Doctor adventure. And yay! Vastra and Jenny! (personal guest star faves) What do you think of my teenage Jenny so far?


	7. Tea and Bonding

_**Shadow to My Sorrows**_

* * *

 **Tea and Bonding**

* * *

 _A day and a half later…_

Alys and Jenny were yet at the business of 'waiting and seeing'. The Doctor, of course, was true to form and no good at this, and he had long since resumed his 'investigating', leaving them to watch over the Silurian's recovery.

She and Jenny had been taking overlapping shifts in caring for the patient. Jenny had only briefly left to go to check-in with whoever was providing her shelter. A match girl can hardly afford to lose out on decent cheap lodgings after all, even for the sake of an adventure with the Doctor. Alys, on the other hand, had only left the room to change, use the facilities, and cook them up some meals. Well, 'cook' was stretching it.

Over a dinner of sandwiches, crisps, and various fruits – marsberries, zonkaberries, riverfruit, and that blue fruit branka, Alys had patiently answered the curious waif's questions.

 _"Who's the Doctor, miss?"_

"Um, let's see… Well, he's a man from another world, a lost world, specifically a Time-lord from Gallifrey, who travels via his ship throughout various decades and centuries – past, present, and future, to various different planets and the like, and who champions those in need."

 _"And who are you, miss?"_

"He calls me 'Alys', and I suppose, you can call me that too. It will keep things simple that way."

 _"And why don't he call you by your proper name, Miss 'Alice'?"_

"I haven't told it to him yet. And before you ask why, it is partially because I like having a special name from him, partially because he never tells anyone his name, so it's a what-goes-around-comes-around thing, and partially because I am descended from people in his future and I believe it will be dangerous for him if he is able to look me up. Too much foreknowledge is a dangerous thing, even for a Time-lord."

 _"If it's dangerous, why travel with him at all?"_

"I haven't yet traveled _with_ him, as far as I know, just _to_ him, or him to me. He sometimes needs – 'managing' isn't the right word… 'Adjusting', yes, he needs help with adjusting his perspective."

 _"Why does he wanna know what I think of his ship?"_

"Oh, he loves to hear people's reactions to how much bigger it is on the inside than the out."

 _"Ha! He may be from another world, but he is just like any other man, wantin' to know if a girl is impressed by his tools, or horse, or racing carriage, or whatever, rather than the pretty women – Lizard-like or human – of his acquaintance."_

Alys found herself glancing over to the now sleeping form of Jenny, as she flashed back to that conversation. She had always been amused and intrigued by the stories of the Doctor's Paternoster friends. But after the past 36 hours, she decided that Jenny was among her favorite people in the universe. Not only did she have gumption and compassion to investigate a mugging and care for its victim, but she had the rare ability to see past the awe-inspiring Time-lord persona to the flawed yet endearing man beneath.

Equally impressive was the fact that right now, pre Detectives Vastra and Jenny, she was younger than she herself had been when she first met the Doctor in Kensington Gardens. This thin waif of a girl was a survivor.

Amidst her quiet contemplations of her fellow nurse-maid, the man whom she had hero-worshipped all her life thanks to her mother's stories finally made his appearance, quietly asking from the doorway, "How's she doing?"

"Va – er – our patient is doing better. Her breathing is easier, and there are no signs of fever or blood clots," she reported, just catching herself before she blurted the Silurian woman's name.

"And Jenny? She's still here?" he asked, glancing over amazedly at the woman-child on the cot.

"Yeah, she's a trooper," Alys confirmed, loving the fact that this small, yet head-strong lass was proving to him that he had underestimated humanity yet again. She may only be partially human, but she harbored at times like these an immense amount of pride in that fact.

Before he could ask her questions that she could not answer, she asked him, "So what did you discover?"

His gaze darkened and his shoulders slumped as he admitted, "All of her people are dead. The construction of the extension of the London Underground damaged their hibernation chambers."

"And you think that when she discovered that, she began seeking revenge on the workers and commuters?"

He nodded, "Some of them were poisoned by her venom."

There was something in his expression that prevented her from asking how the others were killed, so instead she asked, "Do you think her attackers were doing their own bit of avenging?"

"More than likely," he agreed. "I can't imagine a common mugger, even a group of them, sticking around long enough to go toe-to-toe with a Silurian warrior, unless they have a strong motive. Can you?"

She shook her head. In her experience, she knew that although Silurians were a cold-blooded species, they were just as equally passionate and fierce as their warm-blooded 'Ape' counterparts, and a Silurian warrior in a fit of grief and vengeance was a terrifying sight to behold.

Her reverie was interrupted by the Doctor, who of course does not find the silence to be his friend and who plopped down next to her on her cot, stating, "So, I just dropped off the newly wedded Mr. and Mrs. Pond in Leadworth after an interesting trip with fishes in the sky. What about you? What have you been up to?"

"Me? What _I_ have been up to?" she asked incredulously. Did he really expect her to give him details?

"Yes, you. What do you get up to in the in-between Doctor-in-Distress moments?" At her continued look of incredulousness and uncertainty, he waved his hand dismissively, "Oh, you don't have to go into detail. But is it always fights with the Immortal Grandmum and escaping jaunts to a Victorian pub, of all places, or do you space-hop to Space-Vegas to flirt with your favorite cabana boy too?"

She rolled her eyes at his ostentatiously suggestive eyebrow-waggling, and sniffed with mock disapproval, "No, it is not all fights with Grandmum and flirty jaunts."

She ignored his over-the-top mew of disappointment, and more seriously answered his question. "I travel with Grandmum and her friend, who insists that I call her 'Auntie', and I help out with things like the Silurian-Human peace accords, sometimes with them and sometimes not. When I need a break, I go and visit places like the Fourth Bountiful Empire, just to remind myself of all the good that has been done with only one Time-Lord's meddling."

And then, really, because she could not resist, she added with her own sly grin and eyebrow-waggling, "And _then_ I go to places like Space-Vegas and dance and flirt with people like Jack."

At the Doctor's disgusted grimace, she laughed, and then bumped her shoulder against his, summarizing, "In other words, I do a lot of running."

He grinned at her and bumped her shoulder back, before commenting, "Sounds exhausting. And then coming here and getting roped into playing nurse. You should rest up. I'll keep an eye out on these two, while you grab some odd forty winks."

She muttered a protest about his 'being old enough to know better than to mix metaphors or to play father-knows-best with a strong capable woman', but her body, of course, decided to betray her, and not long after that she was drifting off to sleep, while he perused the local papers.

She was apparently so tired that not even Vastra waking up and reacting to being in a strange new place with three Ape-like creatures was enough to fully pull her into the Land of the Conscious.

Through bleary eyes and a dream-like state, she watched as the Doctor attempted to soothe the warrior, and she watched beatifically as Jenny had far more success with her offer of tea and her fanciful explanation of: "Now, ma'am, this is the Doctor, a Mad-man with a great big blue box, and the plain exhausted girl over there is his Alys. They make excellent tea. Drink up, and we will have you on your feet in no time."

Alys could not tell if it was the tantalizing scent of the restorative beverage that calmed the warrior down or the kindness radiating from the young lass, but she did relax and accept the cup.

To Alys, it was yet another start to a beautiful friendship over a cup of kindly offered tea.

* * *

 _To be continued..._

* * *

 **A/N:**

Doctor Whoniverse trivia: technically (I know) per episode _Name of the Doctor_ , Jenny and Vastra don't meet until Vastra saves Jenny's life, but thanks to fanfiction, I get to tweak it a little and add an unofficial role-reversal meeting. I hope you enjoyed ; )


	8. Bonding and Bow Ties

_**Shadow to My Sorrows**_

* * *

 **Bonding and Bow Ties**

* * *

When Alys did next fully awake, Jenny was gone, and the Doctor was quietly talking to the Silurian woman.

Knowing that her help was not needed in convincing Vastra to give up her quest for vengeance, she made herself scarce.

She checked on his stores to see if he had enough food that would appeal to his Lizard-like guest. When she saw that he had enough for a few days, she made a list for what he might need to buy depending on if she stayed longer. She made the simplest and easiest Silurian stew she knew how, cleaned up, and then went wandering. The new TARDIS desktop was bright and cheery, and for some odd reason, made her think 'yellow submarine'.

In her explorations, she found the pool, the library, one of the gardens, and the wardrobe (that would have made a Hollywood costume warehouse look like a mom-and-pop thrift store in comparison).

This is where the two of them found her.

"Oh great! You are here!" the Doctor exclaimed as soon as he spotted her.

When Alys stopped her perusal of the Doctor's vast hat collection, she turned to see the Doctor bouncing on his feet and wringing his hands excitedly, while Vastra surveyed the aisle devoted to the 1970s (which had a surprising number of red-yellow-green striped beanies) with wariness and distaste. Alys was a bit jealous that the dignified woman could pull off the Doctor's maroon bathrobe so well.

"So Alys, this is Vastra. Vastra, this is Alys. She's the one who made the passable stew," he introduced, but before either one of them could murmur more than a 'hello', he was off again.

"And, Alys, you are going to be the one – that is, if you don't have to pop off anywhere – to help with teaching Vastra all about her new world. You see, she's decided to integrate herself into London society. Make a go of it, among the Apes. Isn't that splendid?"

At the dignified Vastra's look of disgruntlement over the Doctor's kid-in-a-candy-store excitement for his new pet project, she realized that she had been directed here, not to help him nurse the future Great Detective to health, but to be a buffer between the warrior woman and him, just long enough for her to realize that he was a friend and not an annoying, meddling alien that she would like to gut.

"Sure," she said with a shrug, and then with a smirk, "I know that the 1880s aisles are not too far from here. We can start there, and I think, women's undergarments will be the biggest hurdle, so let's get that out of the way, shall we?"

As soon as the mental images of corsets, brassieres, garters, and bloomers began to dance across his mind, the Doctor blushed a delightful rosy red and beat a hasty retreat, leaving Vastra in her 'capable hands'.

Vastra watched his fleeing figure with a smirk of her own, dryly commenting, "For one so old, he certainly does fluster easy, like a school boy, no?"

Alys grinned, trying not to make it a toothy smile as that would be far too aggressive, and admitted smugly, "Yep, like a school boy. And I have a feeling that I am going to thoroughly enjoy winding him up over the years."

~D~

Over the next few days, Alys and the swiftly recovering Vastra would get 'dolled up', and then join him in strolls about town to help Vastra get acclimated to her new home.

He and Alys would answer as many questions as they could. When not silently observing her surroundings, the Silurian woman had a great many questions, on all sorts of topics – fashion, currency, courtesies and decorum, religions, socio-economics, politics, cultural mores and biases. You name it. She asked it.

Eventually, however, their student wished to strike out on her own.

He gifted her a few 'spare' outfits and as much local currency as her pride would allow, and they wished her well.

As she walked away disappearing into the hazy morning fog, Alys asked, "You're going to keep tabs on her, aren't you?"

"Oh, of course," he laughed. "She's the only cold-blooded bipedal being around. The TARDIS will find her and whatever mischief she is into in a jiffy."

And because the past week had been far too actual medical doctor-y and professorial, he spun on his heels and rubbed his hands eagerly together, declaring with a bit of Vastra's brogue, "So, Alys-lassie, what Victorian London experience would _you_ like to have?"

Without a moment's hesitation, she blurted, "A secret Steampunk Society, my dear Doctor-lad."

After a mental head slap that it was his own fault for her Trafalgar Square outfit, he grinned and acquiesced to the inevitable, "As my lady requests."

"Really? You know of one?"

"No," he admitted. "But I can certainly find one by the time you have finished creating your fashion statement."

"You're on," she challenged before racing into the TARDIS and to its wardrobe.

He, of course, won their little bet, finding the name, location, and secret password of a much vaunted, anachronistic-Victorian themed, 1980s London nightclub by the time she came out in her blue dress, white corset, boots, and goggles ensemble. As a result, he got to reject her choice of outfit for him and just spruce up his usual togs with a bowler hat, monocle, and clockwork cufflinks.

They went, they danced, and they conquered – literally, as they were the victors of the evening's trivia night.

Neither one of them were willing to end the night sharing the title, however, so all the way back to the TARDIS they debated on how many of Lovecraft's monsters were based on real-life aliens.

He was in the middle of arguing that Lovecraft's 'Elder Things' were not always synonymous with the 'Great Old Ones', when he was interrupted by her Manipulator beeping.

"Is that a message alert from my so-called 'wife'?"

She nodded and pulled out her psychic-paper.

"Trafalgar Square?"

She nodded again, her dark brown eyes narrowing with suspicion at how much he knew.

He dug around in his pockets and then pulled out the red bow tie he had found earlier. Giving it to her, he advised, "You should send my past self a description of what you are wearing so that he will know who you are."

She eyed him thoughtfully for a moment, before shrugging and following his advice. She also accepted the bow-tie and secured it around her neck like a choker necklace, because of course she does – and not just because she already had done for his Tenth self, but also because bow ties are so cool.

While he is smiling in satisfaction at her new accessory, she is staring at the TARDIS door, where a blue envelope was innocently but mysteriously tucked.

Pulling it loose, he asked, "Any hints?"

She cocked her head to the side, clearly thinking of an appropriate response. For some reason, she decided upon a riddle.

"Three other envelopes get sent out. Four others get a similar invite. Two people you know well. One person you will one day know very well, and one person you have not met yet."

She looked as if she wanted to say something, warn him perhaps. Her dark expressive eyes were guarded, and her mouth practically sealed as she was gnawing on her lower lip.

Eventually, however, her internal battle ended, and the bright, optimistic side of her showed forth, as she beamed brightly at him and encouraged:

"And it's a start to a fantastic and terrifying adventure."

Instead of asking all the questions that he wanted to, but knew he would get no answers for, he cheekily quipped, "Oh, the 'fantastic and terrifying adventures' are the very best kind. I like to have six such adventures before breakfast."

She laughed, "Oh, yes, it really is your fault that I keep this moniker, my dear Mad-Doctor."

And then with a twirl and a cheeky wave, she blinked out to London 2007.


	9. His Angel of Death

_**Shadow to My Sorrows**_

* * *

 **His Angel of Death**

* * *

 _London, Spring 1890_

The Doctor raised his hand to knock on the front door of 13 Paternoster Row, one final time, but hesitated. There was a bout of laughter carrying down from the open window – Vastra's throaty chuckle, Strax's hearty grunt, Jenny's sweet tinkling giggle, and a fourth's. His friends were not alone.

If he hadn't recognized the laugh, he might have knocked anyways. If anyone could make those three share in amusement like that, they must be quite the character, and in his current frame of mind, he could use a good laugh or three as well.

But he did recognize it. He would know that full-bodied chortle anywhere, anywhen. Alys.

She would of course be here, at this When of his life, if not necessarily this Where. She usually came after momentous times of death and destruction in his life, but if the records of the militarized, time-traveling, shape-shifter-robot inhabiting, cross people were right, then there would be no more 'afters.'

So instead of knocking, he backed away and found the side-gate, lifted the latch, and quietly moseyed (not crept, not slinked, nor sneaked, these were his friends after all) his way over to the conservatory, where they must be taking their tea.

He found a convenient hydrangea bush that would offer him shade and block him from their view and that was right in front of a cracked open window. Peeking through it, he could see the good Madame Vastra holding court. Her Jenny sat to her left and an Alys, once again only a few years older than previously, (so perhaps about Martha's age but not quite yet the girl of Big-Ears' time), was seated across from her. They were indeed sipping away at their favorite beverage, while Strax tottered among the nearby plants occasionally watering them with the can that he carted around with him.

So making himself comfy beneath the window, he settled down for a good (hopefully long) eavesdrop.

 _(Alys, her voice ringing with incredulity):_ "Oh goodness, I know you have told me the story of you two officially meeting before – the whole rescuing the poor match factory girl from the nasty attentions of a Chinese street gang, but you never, not once, told me that the reason you were there in the first place, Madame, was because you _smelt_ her."

"I didn't 'smell' her." ( _Madame Vastra objected, her tone and manner condescending, clipped, and all factual-like):_ "My superior olfactory senses detected and catalogued her scent as that of the girl who nursed me and gave me tea. I tracked her, in order to convey my thanks."

"And she did." _(Jenny, her voice radiating with pride, love, and staunch loyalty):_ "She not only rescued me from those hooligans and got me to the Doctor who patched me up right quick, clearing whatever debt she thought she owed, but she also offered me a position as her maid."

"As I understand it, the maid service was recompense for the defense and combat lessons." (And there was: _Strax, ever-contemptuous and ever-confused, as if he wished to ask what her domestic placement had to with the price of grenades in Zarathrustra.)_

"Yes," ( _Vastra, her dismissive shrug in her voice, if not in her regal bearing, as she regained control of the wayward conversation):_ "and then you know what they say, the rest is history."

"But you _tracked_ her by her scent, so if not 'smelt' than 'sniffed' certainly applies." _(Alys, doggedly pursues)._

 _(Vastra, resigned to the inevitable, concedes):_ "If you insist."

 _(Alys, thoughtful, now her point was won):_ "So I can see why my belated wedding/so-sorry-I-missed-your-wedding gift of perfume from the best fragrance shop of Nouveau Nouveau France is not the best of ideas."

"It would mask that delightfully delicious scent of hers," ( _Vastra, agreeable and amused, admits, and her voice bubbling with even more suppressed amusement and barely contained triumph, as she loudly declares):_ "and speaking of scents, I detect one of grease, electronics, fish, and custard..."

 _(Jenny, puzzled):_ "What?"

 _(Strax, over-eagerly):_ "I will get the grenades!"

 _(Alys, long-sufferingly):_ "Oh dear."

 _(Madame Vastra, scoldingly):_ "Doctor, do quit skulking in my hydrangeas and come have a proper seat."

He popped up, hitting his head on the window pane, ( _Ow!_ ), popped back down, recalculated, and popped back up, exclaiming, "Skulking? I was cutting a bit of your grass. It's never too late to be trimming the verge, don't you think? No? Well, do pour me a cuppa. All this dropping eaves is mighty thirsty work. I'll be in in a jiff."

"Good lord, Alys. I know he's a brilliant man, and so a bit, er, _off,_ so to speak, half to most of the time. But I do think he gets even dottier when you are around," _(observes Jenny bemusedly)_ – just as he was moseying out of hearing range, of course. Pity.

He joined them, wondering how he can trick them into divulging Alys' response to Jenny's observation. He eventually decided that he should just count his coup against the old eavesdropper proverb and settled on enjoying his tea, with good company.

He explained the why of 'fish and custard'. Strax was the only one who appeared mildly interested in following him up on his culinary recommendation, which was saying a lot considering he obtained sustenance through a probic vent. (It said a lot more about the women's openness to new experiences than Strax's culinary tastes, in his opinion).

He also asked after their latest round of investigations, and was regaled with foiled assassination plots and human-wasp hybrid genetic manipulation conspiracies.

He did an excellent job of dodging their kind and concerned questions, but he wasn't able to put it off for long. Oh, his Time-Lord stamina is enough for him to outlast even a Sontaran and a Silurian combined. All three of the Paternoster Gang retired for the evening to bed or their own personal pursuits, but his Time-Lord descended Alys had settled down for the long haul.

With one of Jenny's 200 copies of _The Study in Green_ in her lap, but unopened, she patiently waited him out.

Caving like all of those uncomfortable with silence, he asked chattily, "So you've been keeping tabs on them too?"

"No, but I have been visiting them. They do get up to some delightful mischief. And are among my favorite people in the 'Verse," she admitted with a fond smile.

Pouncing on the opening, he shared, "Mine too. Even the potato-head. He makes an excellent pub-crawling buddy, willing to try anything, excellent alcohol tolerance, and a good man to have at your back if an accidental relapse of rudeness lands you in a spot of a bother of a bar brawl."

She smiled in mutual amusement, her lips quirking up and her hazel eyes twinkling away, but she did not ask for more details. No, she waited expectantly.

For what, he _did_ know – for what was wrong.

Either her brief acquaintance with him or her mysterious Grandmum and family friend had taught her that the more he avoided, the more wrong and dire something was.

But just because their paths seemed to cross only in times like these, he was not just going to blurt it all out, like she was some Dear Abby advice colonist.

So instead, he asked curiously, "Why couldn't you make it to their wedding?"

"Oh my Grandmum and her 'co-pilot' got into a _bit_ of a mess on Raxacoricofallapatorius and needed help in order to avoid a fixed point time paradox," she explained with a dismissive shrug and pronouncing the planet's name like an old pro.

Ignoring the casual reference to fixed points and time paradoxes, he drawled, "Speakin' of wives…"

"We were speaking of wives? I thought the topic was a wedding," she teased.

"That wedding had two wives," he pointed out.

"Uh-huh," she prompted.

"Your 'once-future-always wife' was the TARDIS, wasn't it?" His eyes narrowed, daring her to deny it.

Surprisingly, she didn't.

"Of course," she admitted with her full chortling laugh. "What finally helped you to make the connection?"

"She told me."

 _That_ threw her for a loop. Her brows went up and furrowed in almost comical bewilderment. He both reveled and became disconcerted that his personal time-line know-it-all did not seem to be aware of this momentous event in his and his TARDIS's relationship.

"Do you not know this story? Of when the TARDIS matrix was planted into a woman called Idris?"

"No, all my mother once told me, and what she was once told by our family friend was that the TARDIS was a 'she', just like any other ship, but unlike any other ship, she has a heart and soul, that she loves you and takes you wherever you need to go," she explained, and then almost as an amused after thought she added, "My mother always suspected that our family friend was a bit jealous of her."

He looked at her peculiarly, once again wondering who this 'family friend' could be, but then mentally shrugged, as he instructed, "Remind me to tell you the story sometime."

She returned his scrutinizing gaze, promising thoughtfully, "I will. I would like that I think."

He was not going to tell her the story now. He was a bit storied out, truth be told, especially now that he knows that there will be so few new adventures, and therefore, fewer new stories. Perhaps, there will only be just the ones with her mysterious Grandmum and family friend, to base them off of.

Into the silence, she whispered softly and guiltily, "Doctor, I am so sorry for not being there."

Now, it was his turn to look all befuddled and flummoxed. True to her promise at La Bella Donna, which he suspected she had not been to yet, his TARDIS had so far arranged for her to be there when he needed her the most, when none of his friends and companions could be. Never before the loss of Gallifrey, of course, as the time-lock made that impossible, but always after.

Risking the chance that he was about to find out a future in which he would be alone despite all her promises, he asked equally quietly, "Where?"

"At Demon's Run."

As soon as the words passed her lips, he wanted to laugh in relief. He somehow overcame his insensitivity tendencies though, and kept his response to his own quiet confession.

"Well, my dear Alys, I think you can blame my wife for that."

At her confused look, he explained, "I tried to to send a message via psychic paper, but the TARDIS, she erased it."

Far from bringing her some sense of relief and enlightenment, his revelation only seemed to baffle her more, as she asked anxiously, "So why are you here? What's wrong? When is this for you?"

Ah. So the scrutinizing glances and concerned looks had not been because she thought he was avoiding those very questions, but because she thought his excessive frivolousness was to avoid meaningful conversation _with_ _her_ , to punish her for her absence.

"Nothing's wrong!" he hastily, if not quite truthfully, reassured.

At her reproving look, he sighed and qualified, "Per se. It's just that everyone tells me that I have an important date at Lake Silencio, and I am rather eager to be late for it."

Thankfully, she did not remind him that it was never a good thing to be 'late' for fixed points, or important dates for that matter. However, he almost wished she had.

"So you're saying your final goodbyes?" she guessed, rather too insightfully.

"'Final' and 'goodbye', they are such horribly depressing words."

There was another silence. This one was far more companionable than the last, so he thought he was off the hook.

Oh, how little did he know.

When she set the book aside, that should have been his first clue that she was about to open fire.

She shifted in her seat, as if to get even more comfortable, and then she thoughtfully mused, "You are always running."

He made to protest, but she cut him off by listing on her fingers one-by-one: _One,_ "You looked into the Vortex and ran."

 _Two,_ "You ran from the Time War when it started and you wanted not to have any part of it."

 _Three,_ "And you ran from it, when you ended it."

 _Four,_ "You ran from the Ood, when they told you that you were nearing your end, and because of that, you were almost too late to stop the Master and Rassilon."

 _And Five,_ " _And_ now you are running from your date with destiny at Lake Silencio."

Not appreciating this rather shrewd analysis of his behavior and character, he fired back, "Is this your longwinded way of telling me it's time to stop running?"

"No and yes."

"Gah!" he exclaimed as he threw his hands up in the air in exasperation, before practically growling, "It's never a straight answer with you, is it?"

Her answering smile was not a smirk, but more of a sympathetic grimace, as she confessed, "It never generally is with timey-wimey people like us."

As he could not deny the truth of that, he sighed resignedly, "So what is your point?"

"My point is I have a friend who has a similar date with destiny. She always adds 'with Fate, not the girl, although I do know a few of those I would like to wine and dine first'. "

He stared and blinked at her.

Realizing that she had gone off an a rabbit-trail tangent, she shrugged and cycled back to, "Anyways, she still runs but a different kind of running."

Not sure he wanted to know, but asking anyways, he prompted, "Yeah, what kind?"

"She runs _to_ and not from. Granted, it is via the scenic route, but she's able to enjoy every moment of her journey without resisting the inevitable destination."

"Hmphh…" he grunted as he considered his words, and then because he did not want to waste his time with her bickering over the fact that it was easy for a girl with regenerations in her future to say all of this, nor did he want to waste the last days of his life on doom and gloom, he offered her a bit of comfort. Or at least attempted to.

"Well, just in case this is the last time I see you before the inevitable, you should know, my bad penny – no, ignore that. That's a horrible endearment. How about 'my angel'? You always seem to bring me messages of hope at times of death and distress."

She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "That makes me sound like a grim reaper. How about you just stick with 'Alys'?"

He clapped his hands in front of him and rubbed them together, affably agreeing, "Alright. 'Alys', A-l-y-s, it is."

He was in the middle of wondering if he would ever learn her real name (her silver-haired older self could have been misleading him back at Ebenezer Station), when she patiently prodded, "I should know what, Doctor?"

Snapping to, he resumed his own message of hope, "That this is not the last time you see me. He won't have my sense of style of course, but…"

When he struggled to find an adequate ending, she helpfully contributed with a knowing smirk, "'You win some, you lose some'? or 'A girl can't have everything'?"

"Yeah," he declared proudly. This incarnation of himself was the bee's knees after all.

Before she could disabuse him of this notion, as almost every female of his acquaintance lately was wont to do, there was an excited shout of "Eureka!" from Madame Vastra in her laboratory.

At all the boisterous commotion throughout the house that followed after, Alys hopped up from her chair and held out her hand, pleading happily, "But at least I can have one more adventure?"

Beaming, he grabbed her hand and gave his own enthusiastic shout, "Yessiree! Just one more!"

~D~

At the end of their little adventure (in which his old _male_ friend H.G. Wells was now female, and more scientific-minded than creative-writing minded, but still as enthusiastic for the ladies as he recalled), he found himself stumbling through a goodbye.

Alys, of course, saved him from himself by bouncing up, kissing his cheek, and whispering, "When you next go to the Wild West of America, skip the top-hat and the fez. Go for the Stetson, my Mad-Doctor."

And then in the space of a blink, she was gone.

~.~

 _Many moons later…_

As he looked at the Stetson that Craig had given him, he wondered if he should take fashion advice from a Steampunk loving chit. And yet …

He doffed it on and spun around with a satisfied grin.

And yet, his Girl with the Red Bow-tie had taken his.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Points to anyone who spotted the LoTR quote.

Doctor Whoniverse trivia:

\- the latest Paternoster Gang investigation was from comic: _The Crystal Throne_

\- per the reference book _The Secret Lives of Monsters,_ a book was written _A Study in Green_ , which described the Paternoster Gang's encounter with Holmes and Watson, and Jenny bought all 200 copies of it to keep it off the shelves.

\- H.G. Wells as a female, as far as I can tell, is not part of this 'Verse (yet), and my inspiration for this solely comes from my love of Helena in Warehouse 13

Anywho, thoughts?


	10. His Impossible Ghost

_**Shadow to My Sorrows**_

* * *

 **His Impossible Ghost**

* * *

 **Leadworth, 1996**

 _"Little Amelia, have I got a story to tell you… If you're patient, there are days coming that you'll never forget…You'll go to sea and fight pirates. You'll fall in love with a man who'll wait 2,000 years to keep you safe… You'll give hope to the greatest painter who ever lived and save a whale in outer space…Most importantly, Amelia Pond, even to the very end, you are the best friend to your mad, lonely Raggedy Man of the Blue Box, and he will cherish you until time runs out…again."_

~D~

 **Leadworth, 2012**

 _"You didn't bring them back."_

 _"No. How did you…?"_

 _"Know? One, you're face says it all. Two, and you're lucky that this happened or I'd probably not let you give your excuses – but I found out what happened from my grandson. He delivered a letter from Rory."_

 _"Gr-grandson?"_

 _"Yeah, they adopted. He's older than me."_

 _"Is he - ?"_

 _"You can't see him – at least not until after I'm gone. I just met him, and I don't want you taking him from me too."_

 _"Tabitha and August?"_

 _"I told them. Well, as much as they can understand. Amy wrote them and her aunt Sharon a letter too. They said that if I saw you first to tell you they wished for you to leave them be."_

Brian said other things after that, things like he cherished his time with the dinosaurs and he knew his son and Amy had no regrets for their adventures with him despite all the heartache that came with that, but that now he and the Senior Ponds had to deal with the consequences.

But what echoed in his mind was _"…leave them be…"_

~D~

He didn't remember much after that.

River stayed as long as she could, but she was right. The TARDIS could not, for any extended length of time, be big enough for two such people as they, and grieving ones at that.

After she gave him one last kiss, she whispered: _"Remember: anytime, anywhen. But in between, don't be alone,_ " and then she left.

 _"Don't be alone."_

 _"Don't be alone."_

But they always leave.

There was a time when he was the one who would drop them off, one final time, and leave for good, before it got too hard.

Could he be that Doctor again?

 _Sarah Jane Smith._

Or should he limit his adventures to one-shots? Go to a place, meet new people, take them for just one trip…?

 _It's never really just one trip, is it? Martha Jones._

Or how about go to a place, meet new people, and save them from whatever catastrophe he stumbles onto, and then leave for the next one? No attachments.

 _Time-Lord Victorious. Adelaide Brooke. Astrid Peth._

And so his mind whirled in a fog of pain, grief, self-recriminations and self-loathing. And on and on it went.

He drifted, never staying, never seeing, always thinking, always remembering ...

... somewhere in the Milky Way, 33rd Century…

…Venice 16th Century...

… Wales, 21st Century...

…Siluria, 24th Century…

… Nevada, 19th Century…

…Scotland moors, 2nd Century…

He was staring at the notorious pile of rocks and wishing the Pandorica was still there and able to swallow him up again, when…

There was a sizzle and fizz-pop, and he was no longer alone with his thoughts anymore.

A woman. Short. Curly brown hair. Dressed in…something. A hat, matching set of shoes, and a coat, with other things underneath he supposed. He didn't really check. He didn't really care, not even about the kind of hat.

She didn't say anything, or try to hug him. She just stood there with him in the silence, staring at that blighted ring of standing stones.

And then…

"You lost them?"

He said nothing. Could say nothing. If he did, a geyser of emotions would burst forth and his hearts would break all over again.

But because he did not, she pressed, "The Ponds?"

Maybe 'pressed' was too harsh a word. Perhaps, she only meant to clarify. But, if that was the case, which 'them' did she need to distinguish between? What other 'thems' was he destined to 'lose'?

He wanted to rage that his Ponds weren't 'lost'. Lost implied they could be found and retrieved. He knew where and when they were. They were gone, impossible for him to see again. They were essentially …dead. His taking them for a simple picnic in New York got them killed.

He didn't say all this though. He didn't even answer her question. If he did, his rage might never stop.

However, it seemed that he did not need to. This girl who came and went in his life, who futilely encouraged him to have faith and hope, to not be alone despite all the pain it brings, saw the answer to her questions in his face, as if it was engraved on a tombstone. And without a moment's hesitation, she emphatically declared:

"Let's Get Bloody Drunk."

~D~

After that moment, things got even hazier for him.

One moment, he was asking warily, if not overly curiously, "where to?", and the next, she was tap-tapping away on her space-hopper, snatching his hand, and grinning, "To my second favorite bar."

And the next, they were standing on Andromeda Galaxy's Planet Random in the 51st century.

He might have been able to figure that all that out for himself, without Alys telling him, by finding a dated news bulletin or scanning the constellations and doing a few quick calculations. He, however, was too busy staring across the street at the sign hanging above the pub door.

It read: _Two Past Five, Somewheres_

~D~

The two of them sat at a booth.

Its tabletop and surrounding décor ebbed and flowed with images in a seemingly random rotation among various places that were currently two past five in their evening. He noted that there was an option for the booth's occupants to select one for it to stay on, if they so chose.

When they were first seated, he caught a brief glimpse of the bright colors and bright lights of the capital city of Bollyworld, but then the décor program moved on to Serenity, a pleasure world that also mixed Sino and Western culture.

Images of treasure-hunting and other outdoorsy adventures hosted by its mountains and plains flickered passed, as well as the more refined entertainments in the floating cities and resorts, including those offered by the _Companion_ Guild.

 _Next._

'Next' was a set of images of an Earth colony planet in Mutter's Spiral – Riverville.

 _Swiping left_.

Option D was the panoramic view of the mercurial swamps of Vulcan. He was amazed at the development of the once battered collection of mining towns. There were now skyscrapers and shining elevated walkways, a far cry from the devastation of the Dalek attacks of his Second Doctor days.

And then there were the hills and mountains of Winter Wonderland; their snow not yet melted by the planet's orbital decay.

His pleasure upon that realization was ruined by the frosty images that followed – the arctic planes of Centuria.

 _Of course._

He swiped back to the previous snowy landscape. It was the least offensive – not too bloody cheerful, not too tainted by literal bloody memories, and best of all no haunting word associations.

When he glanced up to see if Alys had any objections to his choice, she only smirked with amusement before placing their order with their server.

He had no idea what was ordered. He was too distracted by the appearance of their server. It was not that the fact that their server was blue-skinned, or at least not just that. He wanted to classify the mini-skirt and halter-top wearing server as a Crespallion, but their females were only human-child-sized. She was far too tall (even excluding the steel stiletto high heels) to be Crespallion _and_ female. So she was either not Crespallion or she was transgender and/or crossdressing.

 _Fascinating._ This was partly because he could not tell, which was unusual for him, but mostly because, for some reason, some Victorian bar beat out this one for Alys' favorite pub.

Perhaps, it was because he was so busy paying attention to the server, but despite his distracting internal musings, he did note that their server did not request Alys' I.D., causing him to do a double-take in her direction.

Alys had gotten older.

Not only had she lost that 'fresh-faced' look of the girl who loved Steampunk fashion, but her eyes looked all liney as well. And even without glasses, she had an aura of maturity. He clocked her as younger than Donna had been, but older than Rory and Amy.

Noticing his scrutiny, she wrinkled her nose and asked, "Is there something on my face?"

"No," he shrugged, "I just realized that you no longer need the psychic paper or any other means of identification to order your ethanol poison."

She rolled her eyes, "Good gods! You're just as bad as – _them._ Those two threw a party when I had my first gray hair, just to rub it in that they never would."

Before he could respond to this, their server, (Abby S. per her nametag), brought out their drinks – Rekkar shots and ginger beer.

As soon as he saw the tasteless, colorless but powerful spirit and the pint-sized Time-Lord metabolism destroyer, he knew that Alys meant business.

Arching an eyebrow, he quipped, "What no 'cheer up, buttercup' speech?"

She snorted, "No, not today."

"Lost the Pollyanna rosy glasses, did you?"

She ignored his scathing tone, and calmly asserted, "No, I just gained the wisdom of knowing that there's a time for pep talks, and there is a time for emo-sulks and shit-faced hangovers."

Then raising her Rekkar shot, she ordered challengingly, "Down the hatch, Doctor."

Keeping his fingers crossed that by the end of the night he wouldn't be married to Elizabeth Taylor or the like (Cleo, Marilyn, Elizabeth I, and River were quite enough wives for one Time-Lord, thank you), he banged the small glass on the table so it fizzed and then downed the hatch.

 _Oh, the burning!_ It was almost like being infected with the Torajiian sun again.

He chased the shot with a cool gulp of ginger beer.

And that was the last clear memory he had of the evening – Alys' matching silly grin and sad dark eyes beneath her emerald green newsgirl cap.

~D~

His sudden grief-shocked and pain and guilt-ridden mind had had him walking and traveling around in a pea-souper of a fog, his memory unable to retain anything but snippets.

But his 'Bloody Drunk' brain made that look eidetic.

After the ginger pop chaser had come Bactrian cocktails – 2 drops on a sugar cube. He just lost count of how many sugar cubes.

There were no marriages or betrothals that he was aware of, but he did have the faint recollection of challenging an Italian opera singer to a karaoke battle. He's pretty sure that is where the tomato bits became encrusted into his hair – tossed from his _adoring_ audience.

And in between the 'Red Under the Bed' cocktail (RedStar Martian vodka mixed with he did not want to know what else) and the Kronka (cherry brandy, crème de banana, and M3 Variant) some cute bow tie and suspender wearing Zocci had bought him, he battled wits with a Sicilian. Death may or may not have been on the line.

By the time he downed the hatch with a 2017 Bombay Sapphire Gin (double the alcohol, double the fun!) with a wedge of lime or two, Abby S. looked like Absalom and Alys had Siamese Tweedled. Her double-self was not only joined at the hip but they bickered with each other.

As soon as he had informed her of this phenomenon, she had crowed, "Mission accomplished!" and paid up their tab.

A _tap-tap_ and a _sizzle fizz-pop_ later, they were space-hopped.

But not to Sexy's pretty blue doors.

But to a wooden door with a heavy brass knocker.

A wooden door opened by a potato-head.

~D~

"Doctor, quit twitching!"

"Well, quit tickling!"

"I am not tickling. I am searching for your TARDIS key."

"Soz thatsh yer evil plot! Get me tippy and shteal me boat. Thatsh me wife! You cantshavver!"

"You're not tipsy. You're drunk. I don't want her for me. I need the key so I can fetch her for you."

"Why's bring 'er to me? Why's not versha-vice-a?"

"You are in no fit state to pilot her, my dear Doctor."

"'Ow canu?"

"How can I? I stopped at the RedStar, skipping the 'Under the Bed', turned down the little red cactus's disgusting offer, and passed on your 'double the fun'."

"Party pooper."

"Designated driver."

"Fine. Key's righta 'ere."

"Thank you."

"Leave me be."

~D~

 _Sometime later…_

He lay face first on a fainting couch, face smushed into tasseled pillows.

His throat was dry; his stomach, queasy; and he knew that while his temples throbbed some now, they will be pounding like a legion of Sontaran fists in a pre-battle war cry in a few hours.

Like music to his ears, he could hear Alys's contralto voice instructing Jenny, "Make sure you add the blue vial to the green nasty looking stuff, only just before you give it to him, or my mother's Guaranteed Hangover Cure for Over-indulging Time-Lord Idjits will just make him spew the disgusting stuff all over you like the toddler he can be sometimes."

There was a soft murmur of gratitude and then: "Why aren't you staying to give it to him yourself, Miss?"

He strained his ears to hear her response, and just barely caught her heavy hearted sigh: "Because when he wakes up in the morning…he is going to hate me."

"' _Hate_ ' you? What could you have possibly done?"

"It's not what I did, but what I didn't do."

"Miss?"

"I know his future, Jenny, and I didn't warn him about the Ponds or any of his other companions."

"Why don't you? You must have good reason to."

"I do, and one day I will be able to explain it fully to him. But for right now, that is not going to be good enough for him."

There was a momentary pause in their hushed conversation, which was broken by Alys' gentle chiding, "Don't look like that, Jenny-love. The more the Doctor hates me, the less he can hate himself, and the less self-destructive he will become. I may be no good as 'his Alys-lass' for the time being, but I can be this for him."

"If you say so."

He didn't catch what was said next as the two of them moved off presumably towards the entrance hallway. Their soft murmurs and Strax's mutterings about mission failing horses lulled him back into a doze. But before he drifted off, he realized one thing:

Alys was right. He did hate her. Not as wrathfully as the Daleks, nor as loathingly as himself, but she was not too far behind at the moment.

One day he might forgive her, this impossible girl who haunts his dark days. But not today.

And not for many days to come.

* * *

Doctor Whoniverse trivia and disclaimers:

\- opening lines of Doctor to Amelia were adapted from Amy's voice over at end of _Angels Take Manhattan_

 _-_ Brian's conversation with Doctor inspired by BBC webcast _P.S._

 _-_ All planets are part of the 'Verse. The planet 'Serenity' is also based off of Firefly universe (because I cannot resist)

\- All beverages are part of the 'Verse and are not of my own creation.

\- the bar _Two Past Five, Somewheres_ and the character Abby S. are mine ; )

 **A/N:** too dark and angsty? Not enough? Or just right?


	11. Auld Lang Syne

_**Shadow to My Sorrows**_

* * *

 **Auld Lang Syne**

* * *

 _Bethel, New York, August 16_ _th_ _, 1969_

The bass drums boomed. The solo electric guitar trilled. The crowd gyrated. And his younger self (the one with the beyond prominent chin) was milliseconds away from crashing into him – which would be a tragedy for rock music history.

One collision with himself and he would be far more curious about how he has a future self and why he would risk a paradox than he would be about taking the stage, where he would do the most epic tambourine performance of his life (and that's saying something).

And so he ducked and twisted around the nearest group of exceptionally tall persons – and collided with someone else.

"Whoa, dude!" the Doctor cried as he bumped into someone – not all that hard to do at Woodstock, really – and reached out to steady them.

It took him two of his double heartbeats to come to one conclusion: _Not a dude._

And not a rock-n-roll-loving hippie either.

Amidst the crowd of beaded moccasins, faded bell-bottom jeans, and tops of the fringed/floral-printed/tie-dyed or some horror combination of all three variety, she wore strappy high-heeled sandals and a fashionable black and mauve wrap dress – which was not to be invented until the next decade.

It took him less than half a heartbeat to put this anachronism and her curly brown locks together to equate: _Alys_. And he jerked his steadying hands from her shoulders as if they had been burnt.

"You're a bit early. No one's dead, mind-wiped, or sucked into a parallel universe yet," he snarled. If his ghost of Christmas past/present/future/whatever could be sent on her way now, then perhaps whatever doom that was about to befall him could be handled without empty promises of hope and companionship.

"Shove off!" Alys snapped back. "It's not always about you, you know."

The sharp pain behind her bitter tone made him do a double-take.

The last time he had heard such misery in her voice, she had been fifteen and recently orphaned. Now, she was, perhaps, in her forties, with a frosting of silver in her hair, and even more crinkles around her eyes than when he last saw her. But her wide dark brown eyes had that same lost and haunted look.

They narrowed somewhat as they assessed his guitar, before she asked, "New Axe?"

He resisted the urge to retort 'New face too' as apparently it was not new to her and he had become more used to it by now. Instead, he simply nodded and strummed a few notes, earning a few glares from nearby music enthusiasts for 'competing' with the current performing artists.

"I am breaking it in. Despite Chinny being here, I think it's the perfect place to test it out before popping in on Marcus Aurelius and our band." He did a (quieter) riff, and asked, "What do you think?"

She was thinking quite a lot, but not about the appropriateness of the setting or the sweet tones of his newest beauty, judging by her inward gaze and contemplative tapping (which in no way was in sync with the throbbing beat).

Finally, she looked up and fixed him with a steady gaze, declaring, "I _know_ that you and Clara will make up. But in the meantime, I am going to treat this like Ross's version of a break..."

(So apparently, via his newly acquired musical instrument, she bizarrely knew his subjective-When, and she was familiar with 90s pop culture.)

Before he could point out the unfairness of how unequal their relationship was or question the significance of his and Clara's relationship status, she continued:

"... I _want_ to go with you to help you find Gallifrey."

In the space of two-and-a-half double-timed heartbeats, his thought processes and emotions went much like this:

 ** _Thump-thump_** _._ What-the-fuck? shock. **_Thump-thump_** _._ Who-does-she-think/Where-does-she-get/Unbelievable! anger. **_Thump-_** Gallifrey-is- _my_ -Oh-yeah-it-is-her-home-too-Oh-I-can't-believe-I-am-actually-considering-giving-into-this realization **–** ** _thump_** _._

"Shut up."

~D~

He, of course, gave in.

How could he not while she was using the full force of her sad brown-eyed peeps?

That, and he was an idiot, with a blue box, and screwdriver, so why the hell not?

One reason might be that while being alone _sucked_ , it could be argued that traveling with someone that you had once set your mind to hate while in a grief-stricken drunken stupor was a bloody nightmare.

While logically he understood why she had never forewarned him about Amy and Rory, in his hearts of hearts, he was still exceedingly bitter about it. It didn't help matters that he was on the outs with Clara, due to being blind-sided by Missy, formerly known as the Master.

So he tried to limit their interactions to business-like discussions about the finding and breaching of pocket-universes, the scanning of said universes for Gallifrey, and the fixing of the TARDIS, as she usually experienced some sort of mechanical failure as a result of the universe-hopping. If he didn't, he was afraid he would do and say more than just a snide cutting remark or two.

Thankfully, Alys helped with this by eating, sleeping, and doing what repairs she could in her work shop/room as much as possible.

Who didn't help was his Old Girl, who he suspected was manipulating the corridors to sabotage both of their plans to keep their distance from each other. How else was he to explain why they kept bumping into one another, even though the library hadn't been anywhere near the pool since his first Amelia days?

Thus, at pocket universe #7, he gave in here too.

"So did you ever settle down, get married?"

Alys quit digging through his box of Magpie Electronics spare parts to fix him with a wary look.

He almost felt guilty for his antagonistic attitude being the cause of that look, but when she cautiously questioned "Why?", he could not help but explain with cruel callousness, "Ice breaker. Establish rapport, so that you seem more human, or in your Time-Being mutt case, _likable_."

There was a flinch, a grinding of her teeth, and a muscle spasm at his hostile resentment, as if over the years, her resolve to be the object of his hate had weakened. However, she was able to quickly shore up her defensive walls and cast him a tight-lipped smile, as she scoffed, "Doctor, that's what they tell people to do in case they find themselves in _hostage_ situations. Do I need to be worried?"

Not in the mood to be immediately reassuring, he cocked his head to the side and took his time considering all the possible answers to her question. Finally, he posited, "No, I don't think so... Although I am Scottish now and I think I hold a mean grudge, I - I don't _want_ to anymore."

That was true. He still held the grudge. Just not as tightly. His real problem was…

"I want to go back to being the idiot Doctor with his Alys. I am just not sure how."

He couldn't quite meet her eyes, while he made this olive twig of a confession, so he resumed fiddling with the scanner, which had snap-crackled-popped upon their entry into 'Verse #7.

Watching out of the corner of his eye, he observed that his vulnerable response had startled her.

Perhaps it was her maturity level, but for once she did not have a ready quip or platitude and took her time to mull over her response, slowly murmuring, almost to herself, "Okay…" as she pushed back the box and settled herself back into her chair.

After a few contemplative moments, she too made her own confession, sharing, "Well, I went and did what you told me to do – or in your case, _will_ tell me to do – I found someone and I am happy."

At her contented tone, he stopped fiddling with the fritzed-out scanner to ask with genuine curiosity, "What is he like?"

At this, Alys's contented smile spread into a droll smirk, as she declared, " _She_ is the epitome of stereotypical French – minus the beret. She hates berets. She'd sooner wear a fez."

His infamous eyebrows went up at this statement, but he didn't say anything. He just listened as she talked of how her wife of nearly ten years loves to laugh ("She's got that throaty chuckle like Vastra") and love ("She gives the best hugs, even better than your Eleventh-self did") and eat ("I took her to Ahkaten once and she nearly gave away her wedding ring just to sample some blue fruit there").

"…She talks with her hands, has this fiery temper, and razor sharp tongue – that's quite talented in other areas too, mind you…"

"…She bakes, and she lives and breathes art and culture…"

Alys shared of first meeting her outside a 'little shop' at a museum, of her new life of helping her wife raise her teenage girl and boy, and of enjoying lazy Sunday afternoons.

Eventually, he asked, with genuine desire, "Will I ever meet her?"

Alys grinned at him, stating fondly, "I asked my wife that once, and she went all sangfroid about it."

Intrigued, he prompted, "Oh?"

"She asked if you were the kind to get jealous of your companions."

The two of them shared a knowing look, recalling his antics with many a companion's boyfriend – in particular, Mickey, and most recently, the late Danny Pink.

"So when I told her as much, she said – and I quote: 'Then likely he will try to compete with me for your affections…He will lose. Perhaps, it is best not then, no?'"

Not sure whether he was grimacing at her atrocious imitation of the French accent or at the truth of her statement, he asked pointedly, "If you are so happily married and this is not about me needing you…then why do you want to hunt for Gallifrey now?"

She opened her mouth a few times, managing to get out "I… I…", before drawing her knees up to her chest and trying again, with a sigh, "My wife's family had a reunion."

It didn't take him very long to connect the dots, and she didn't really need to say anymore for him to. Part of the reason that he hated to stay still was that his companions, be they human, Silurian, or Sontaran, they were communal creatures. Things like Christmas family get-togethers and reunions (be they family or combat units) were bound to happen. He liked weddings because they were beginnings, but all other events just tended to remind him of all of his endings.

"You miss your family."

She nodded her silver-frosted head, "Yeah. My extended family on my Da's side."

"You never talk about him or them," he noted quietly.

She gave him a tremulous smile, "You aren't the only one who can hold a grudge." She tucked her head down into the crook of her arm and looked at the center console, before whispering, "I think I have forgiven them for his death."

"You blamed _them_?"

When she had first told him her story at La Bella Donna and then at the Kensington Gardens, he had not understood why she had not blamed him for his father's death, when she had to have known that he had used The Moment to stop the war. When he had discovered that he had managed to save Gallifrey after all, he had thought that he had understood, and it was because she blamed the Daleks, who must have killed her father before he had saved them all.

But apparently that was not the case.

Picking up on his confusion, she explained, "He wouldn't leave them. When mother found a way for them to escape the time-lock – or should I say, when she explained her intent to use the same method that the Zygons would, did, whatever, but that she did not have enough paintings to inconspicuously smuggle out and take his family with them – he refused to go. The noble idiot ended up dying to protect them."

For a few moments, she seemed to get lost in her memories. Her eyes became hooded and her gaze distant and her breathing short and pained.

Perhaps, it was a sign of his own maturity, but for once he let silence fall. There was only the steady whirring hum of his Old Girl, as he waited her out.

His patience paid off, and she eventually stirred herself to continue more steadily, "So I hated them."

"And not just them. At the time I first met you, I was filled with such bitter resentment, and I couldn't decide whom I hated more. There was my Grandmum, whom I only knew from stories, who only recently discovered I existed, and who hated my father for 'stealing' her daughter away from her. There were Da's parents, brothers and sisters, cousins, nieces and nephews, all of whom I felt he had chosen over me and my mother. And then there was my mother."

"Why her?" he quietly asked, as he silently wished that he had started this conversation in the kitchen where he could have put the tea kettle on.

"She didn't want to leave him, even after his death, even when she knew that there was no way he could regenerate and come back to her. She loved so fiercely, and she loved me too much, and so because she waited too long to leave, she was left with only one choice in the end - to die to protect me, so I could get away."

She drifted off again, but this time she was able to pull herself back to the present with a little shake of her curly head and shrug of her shoulders, concluding her explanation for her need for their little quest with, "So it will be nice to one day talk with others who share memories of them."

He didn't need Clara's cards to tell him what to do next. He wasn't sure that he could find Gallifrey's pocket universe any time soon and thus her family, but he could be a listening ear and share stories of their home world. After all, hadn't he longed for that very thing when he thought he was the only one? And again when he discovered that the Master was alive? Or when he thought he received the hypercube from the Corsair?

So he squeezed in next to her on the bench seat, nudged her shoulder with his own, and said softly, "Tell me about them."

And so she did, telling of one of her aunts who collected the small yellow flower Sarlain, until she regenerated and her new body was allergic.

"…and so my cousins and even her siblings would stock up on Sarlains and make daisy chain necklaces out of them to ward her off like garlic to a vampire, as she was such a nosy busy-body…"

She told of one of her cousins wanting to be an entrepreneur and of his smuggling in male and female rabbits for the purpose of breeding them and selling off the 'cute round cuddly fuzzies' to his friends' kid-sisters, only to discover how quickly they breed and how much poop they produce.

And he told her of hiding a pet flobble under his bed at the Academy and being nearly caught when she went into heat and started her mating call. And of when he was a 'wee loomling' letting a cobblemouse loose in the House of Lungbarrow, causing his father's plans and notes to scatter about.

And they reminisced together about the green forests, golden fields, red deserts, and orange skies…

About chasing flutterwings at the Perdition Sanctuary as children and kissing sweethearts as randy youths at Wild Endeavor Haven…

About repairing K-9s and the ease of sneaking past technicians at the repair shop to steal aboard a faulty Type 40 TARDIS…

A trip down Memory Lane had never been less bitter and more sweet as then for him, so he kept them talking while they finished their repairs, did their scan for Gallifrey, and recovered from yet another disappointment.

And by the end of it all, he was nearly the idiot Doctor again, and she, nearly his Alys.

~D~

 _Pocket Universe Bust #13:_

A half-dozen futile pocket universe searches later, they were calling it quits.

Well, at least he was for her sake. Her longing for her own family reunion was clearly now being surpassed by her longing for her wife, and even her step-kids.

But before she went, he had to ask, "Just one question…"

Alys stopped her packing to arch an eyebrow at him and tease, "Just one?"

He ignored her jibe and continued, "How did you find me? Did the TARDIS think I needed help finding Gallifrey?"

Instead of pointing out the obvious, that he never would have gotten out of half to most of the pockets without her TARDIS repair-woman skills, she simply stated, "River."

It took every ounce of self-control he had not to roll his eyes – because of course his archeologist wife knew about Alys. Why did he ever think that he could keep her a secret from his research-savvy, borderline stalker Dr. Song?

Zipping up her bag, she declared, "Before I go, I have a question for you."

Mentally bracing himself, because she had the look of someone about to perform invasive surgery on a conscious person, he conceded, "Fair's fair."

"When was the last time you saw River?"

And _bam!_ It was like she had punched a hole in his ribcage and pulled out one of his hearts.

After a few deep breaths, he managed to calmly ask, "In person or as neuro-echo ghost?"

"In person," she clarified.

Up went his scary eyebrows, as he asked suspiciously, "Don't you know?"

"I only know what my sources know, and they only know from what they experienced and you told them," she patiently explained, and then with her head cocked to the side, she guessed, "It was right before I got you drunk wasn't it?"

Doing what he did best, he dodged her query and shared gleefully, "Strax was quite vexed about that. Annual pub crawls for a decade, and you managed to get me far more intoxicated than he ever did."

"Far more experience with Time-Lord biology," she explained with a shrug and an amused twinkle in her brown eyes. A twinkle that continued, even as she accused, "And I thought you were past running."

Annoyed that she was not going to let this go, he mulishly defended, "I did say good-bye. At Trenzalore. The first time."

The twinkle dimmed, as understanding dawned.

"Ah, and you feel that every time you see her, you have to say goodbye again and again. Or is it that you are afraid that the next time you see her will be the last?"

All he could do was just look at her.

To name the fear and pain was to feed it. So why give it any more fuel for thought?

Alys must have seen something in his expression, because more softly and kindly, she pleaded, "Oh my dear Doctor, as painful as either will be, think about all the missed opportunities for kindness, love, and glorious adventures that never now can be by giving into your fear."

He swallowed back down the rising wave of grief that her words invoked and glanced away. After a few more such swallows, he was able to choke out, "I will consider it."

"Even if you half-think it is fortune cookie hogwash?" was her gentle teasing query.

Relieved and grateful that she was not so earnestly pushing the matter, he promised drolly, "Even if I _all-_ think it is fortune cookie hogwash."

This seemed satisfactory to her, since she promptly hoisted her bag over her shoulder, and declared, "Well then, as my wife would say, ' _Au revoir, mon cher Docteur_ '."

And in the Gallifreyan tongue, he promised, "And to the seeing again of you, my dear wee Alys."

~D~

After she left, he did consider her sentimental drivel. He just did not limit it to River.

When his screen lit up with coordinates to London 2015, he vowed aloud to his Old Girl, "Yes, yes, I will go see Clara and make up – no kissing! Maybe hugging. But I want to first stop at a book shop. For let us not say that I will miss an opportunity to be kind. So perhaps, something on soufflés?"

* * *

 **A/N:** the author hopes you have enjoyed this program update and thanks you for joining in on this journey so far.

Stay tuned for _All That Was Standing in My Way Was: Me_

And Questions, Comments, Kudos, Rotten Tomatoes? All are welcome.


	12. All that was standing in my way was: Me

_**Shadow to My Sorrows**_

* * *

 **All that was standing in my way was: Me**

* * *

 _Many space-hops ago…_

"What the hell are you wearing?"

The girl the Doctor called 'Alys' looked down at her blue sundress, overlaid with a white buckled corset and brown knee-high boots, before replying, "Steampunk. I went to a club. Dress up and dancing clears out my head."

Dress up and drinking, while talking with the Rose & Crown Echo-Clara had been her original intent before the Police Box TARDIS had entangled her with Operation Wounded Lizard-Lady, so her half-truth was as good as any. The whole truth was not something she was willing to share with her Grandmum, especially when she looked to be ready to breathe dragon-fire down on her head.

Centuries-, if not millennia-old Me was in no way fooled by her glib answer though. She stood leaning against the console with her arms crossed and her foot tapping irately, as she accused, "But you were with _him._ "

"Him who?"

Innocent until proven guilty seemed to be the best defense tactic on such short notice. The burden of proof was now on her grandmother.

Tap-tap-tap went the foot. "The Doctor."

"What makes you say that?"

"The bow tie," her Grandmum bit out.

"You did hear me say Steampunk, right? Homage to vintage fashion with modern sassy twist?" she pointed out with a roll of her eyes. Good grief, she knew Me had her hang ups about the Time-Lord ever since she discovered that her daughter's decision to play tourist to his life had led to her demise, but this was kind of over the top in her opinion.

"No, she's right," Clara chimed in from wherever she had been eavesdropping, and then tapping her neck with her finger and nodding her head pointedly at Alys, she declared, "That bow tie is not just any bow tie. It's one of the Doctor's. I traveled with him often enough to recognize one anywhere."

Upon confirmation of her suspicions, her Grandmum's arms went from being crossed to planted on her hips, as she self-righteously reprimanded, "What the _hell_ do you think you are doing?"

Finally admitting to herself that the jig was up, she dropped all pretenses and explained, "I'm being a friend in the hour of his need."

Her explanation went over like a lead balloon.

"Bullshit. If he is in need of a friend, he can go to Vastra, Jenny, and Strax. He has River," her grandmother heartlessly pointed out.

She should have kept her mouth shut, and given a nod of agreement. The argument would have ended with Lady Me having the last word. But she couldn't help but think of forlorn Ten at the Peter Pan statue, and so she found herself mumbling, "Not always."

Her mumble must have been distinguishable enough, because Clara's eyebrows sky-rocketed and Me was exclaiming in shock, "You've been mucking about his timeline even _before he meets Clara?!_ "

"I'm not mucking about anything," she quickly defended. "I only cross paths with him when his TARDIS arranges us to, and as her heart _is_ the Time Vortex, I think she would know when it is safe for us to interact."

"What do you mean?"

The curious tone in Clara's voice gave her hope that she might have an ally in her great-godmother, so she kept her gaze on her as she attempted to matter-of-factly explain about how the TARDIS brought the Doctor to her the first time they met and how it lets her know where and when to go via messages on the psychic paper he gifted her.

It was hard to read her 'Auntie Clara', as no heartbeat meant no bio-feedback loop of flushed skin or jumping pulse point when she was anxious or angry, and Clara had long ago learned to put on her impassive teacher face when she wanted to.

And while it may have been hard to discern if she had been persuaded or not, her grandmother was clearly still unconvinced, as she pointed out, "But you could let slip something that could lead him down a different path, one in which he might never meet Clara."

Her tone had lost its indignant fury, no doubt due to Clara's calm and reasonable demeanor, but it was still condescending, which irked Alys to no end.

"Which would mean I would never exist, and therefore, paradox. _I know_. I am not an idiot, and I am not going to do something so stupid as _that_ ," she retorted.

She wanted to remind them that she was the one with a Time-Lord father and Vortex-mutated mother and who had grown up on Gallifrey where relative physics and time-laws were taught practically before children were even out of their nappies. But she didn't, because she knew that trying to pit her Gallifreyan education against Lady Me's 'wisdom gained by vast experience' only ended in the kind of argument that had led her to her trip to the Rose & Crown in the first place.

Case in point:

"You don't know how tempting that can be," her grandmother sagely cautioned.

"Well then, I guess you will have to trust me, and that I know what I am doing," she challenged back.

Her grandmother's brown eyes sparked and her lips curled up into a sneer, and Alys braced herself for a cutting and cruelly insightful remark, but she was saved by Clara, who interjected placatingly, "How about a compromise?"

When they both looked to her expectantly, Clara took a deep (but unnecessary breath for her), fixed her gaze on her, and proposed, "How about you agree to only go when the TARDIS calls, and you _never_ go when I am his companion?"

Alys didn't like it. She didn't like it at all. But she could see the wisdom in these guidelines.

In fact, she _had_ seen the wisdom. The Doctor had told her that she only came when 'his wife' relayed of his need of her. So she had waited nearly ten years and had resisted the temptation of tracking him down herself. And when she had had her brief encounters with him, she had resisted his cajoling and kept her foreknowledge to herself, other than a nudge towards the Royal Hospital here and vague promises of hope and friendships there.

She couldn't decide what rankled her more – that they didn't trust her or that she felt caged in with those restrictions.

How long would she have to wait until the TARDIS brought them together again? And would the next meeting with him be as brief as her time at Trafalgar Square, which had been cut short so that he could go meet Martha?

She wallowed in her self-pity for a few heartbeats, and then resolved that it did not matter and that she should just be grateful for the time she could have with the man, who was not just a legendary hero in her family's history but also her friend.

Seeing that she had very little option, as she knew that if she refused, the pair of them would find some way to take her mother's vortex manipulator from her, she silently reserved the right to find loopholes in the last stipulation if the TARDIS called, before holding out her hand and declaring, "Deal."

~D~

 _Two Past Five Somewheres, many years before the Doctor's visit..._

Abby's blue-face was screaming 'curiouser and curiouser', as she handed her a yellowed with age envelope that's address was scripted in beautiful, if faded, calligraphy.

Alys, recognizing the ornate 'V' stamped into the black wax seal, hesitated only a brief moment before opening it, knowing what was coming. In fact, so certain was she of the consequences of this act, that she barely comprehended the message as she waited for the soporific effect to take place.

When it did, she could distantly hear her friend Johnny urgently calling her name, as she no doubt face-planted into their tray of shots.

~.~

She 'woke' to find herself seated at a black and gold pentagonal table, incongruously set in the middle of a red sandstone and white marbled domed building. Across from her sat Jenny and Madame Vastra sipping away at their tea from rose-painted porcelain cups. Behind them was a pointed arch and a stone courtyard.

She turned in her chair to take in the rest of her surroundings, and her jaw dropped at the view behind her – framed in this pointed archway was the Garden of Paradise and the Taj Mahal.

"Oh my," she breathed, and then turning back to her friends, "Your recollection of the mausoleum is quite detailed and exquisite."

"Yes, it is one of my favorite memories. Its 'exquisiteness', as you say, gave me hope that you Apes were not a completely brutish species," Vastra confessed with a small smile.

"How did you - ?" Jenny started to ask Alys bewilderedly before catching herself. "Oh right, I forget you know someone from our future. I take it they told you about our conference calling methods?"

"That, or your future selves conference call a younger me," she answered with a sly grin.

"Enigmatic as ever, Alys dear," complimented Vastra. "But don't you wish to know _why_ you are here?"

"I figured you would get around to it eventually, but no need to spoil good tea – even if it is dream tea – with portents of doom and gloom," she replied breezily, as she gratefully accepted the offered cup.

The two ladies nodded in agreement with this, and all three took a few minutes to revel in their brewed delight before getting down to business.

Madame Vastra opened with, "We called you here, because the Doctor is in need of his friends – _all_ of them."

"The TARDIS did not call me."

Vastra frowned at her tone of voice and suddenly guarded expression, but Jenny was oblivious and continued on with the explanation.

"We thought that might be a possibility, as usually you don't come unless he is traveling without the Ponds, and I guess his other companions too, so we thought we would help the 'Old Girl' out."

When she said nothing, Jenny uncertainly added, "Someone took Amy. She's pregnant, and her husband and the Doctor are going after her. And they need all the help that they can get."

Alys hardened her heart to Jenny's hopeful gaze and did her best to keep her face impassive, as she was afraid if she showed any sign of weakness, her friends would exploit it.

"I _can't_ , Jenny. The TARDIS did not call me," she flatly reiterated.

"But – but he _needs_ you. You're his Alys. You always come when he needs you," her friend argued plaintively.

Alys closed her eyes for a brief moment, before turning to meet Vastra's gaze, silently pleading for understanding, praying that her logical mind would see the wisdom of her refusal and forgive her for it.

Vastra quietly assessed her in her own impassive manner, barely even blinking, and then, when Alys thought that she could not take it anymore, the Silurian detective gave a small regal bow of her beautiful green-scaled head in acquiescence, causing Jenny to gasp in disappointment.

The Silurian reached over and squeezed her lover's hand, murmuring, "Hush now, Jenny. If she's worried about undoing the future, there must be a future for the Doctor to possibly un-do."

To Alys, she observed, "The Doctor once referred to you as his 'Angel of Death'. If the TARDIS has not called you, then that must mean the Doctor will be alright. Is my reasoning sound?"

Thank the 'Verse she did not ask for an answer in one word. As it was, Alys was struggling for honest and meaningful yet vague words.

Finally she settled on this solemn admission: "My dear friends, all I can tell you is that you should be grateful that I am not needed."

And then with far more cheeriness than she felt, she asked, "So how does one wake up from this trance? If I don't, I might give away more spoilers than is healthy."

They did not return her faux smile. They just leaned forward and snuffed out the candles on the table.

~.~

When she actually did wake up, it was to her friend Johnny urgently shaking her shoulder and asking, "Are you alright? What the hell happened?"

Holding her aching head (not from the soporific but from the impact of her face-plant), she pleadingly grumbled, "No, I am _not_ fine. But I'll tell you later, just not here. Until then, hold me? I need a hug."

Her broad-shouldered gentle giant of a friend moved swiftly out of his side of the booth to join her on hers and wrapped her in his arms. Gratefully, she burrowed in, and they sat there quietly for several long moments, as she took comfort in his open and generous affection.

Eventually, he asked, "Where would you like to go?"

"Let's go crash Tony and Nasreen's wedding."

The reception would be loud, and it would be noisy. But it would also be merry, which is what she needed right now.

Sensing this, he said with hearty alacrity, "Sure thing, my flitter-mouse."

~D~

 _Diner TARDIS, Scorpion Nebula, approximately 7-8 years later..._

Alys nearly dropped one of the thermocouplings she was in the middle of repairing, when her inside jacket pocket hummed.

She also squealed, as it tickled, which was rather unfortunate, not only for her dignity, but also because it drew her Grandmum's attention to her.

Before she could safely tuck away the psychic paper pad, her grandmother snatched it away from her and read aloud: " _Come to Christmas. The Question has been asked."_

It took her grandmother less than thirty seconds to decipher the meaning. Alys counted as she watched her puzzled furrowed brow (which would never wrinkle) smooth into her implacable stony expression.

"R.S.V.P.: 'No can do'."

"And why the hell would I want to do that? The TARDIS called; the Doctor needs me," she protested.

Her grandmother had the audacity to look surprised at her question, as if she was astounded that she had to explain her reasoning – which she did, in a most cool and patronizing manner.

"It's too dangerous."

"Dangerous!" she scoffed, not letting her finish. "The Doctor was right in calling the Siege of Trenzalore a 'minor skirmish'. It is nothing compared to what I had to endure during the Time War."

"And that's just it! You still have family on the other side of that time-crack. Can you honestly tell me that you will be able to resist the temptation to break the Silence _knowing_ your aunts, uncles, cousins, your childhood friends are just on the other side?" Lady Me asked with overt skepticism – her eyebrows arched and her expression grim.

Alys had an excellent answer to refute her grandmother's blatant doubt – that she would be able to resist as that meant that a new Time War would not start, and therefore, every one of her remaining loved ones would continue to live. However, the petite bulldog of a woman did not give her a chance to reply.

"Even if you are somehow able to resist, Clara needs to be the one to plead that Gallifrey helps him, and your presence may prevent that. And then where would we be?"

At some point, Clara had joined them in the console room, having been no doubt attracted by the raised voices, and now she was entering the fray. Quite calmly, she interjected, "I know that after seeing him right after he lost Amy and Rory, it was tremendously gut-wrenching for you, and you'll want to make sure he is never alone like that again. But you can't try to argue yourself out of the second half of your promise. While the Doctor may have been fighting for centuries without me, I was still his companion."

And then, as if to add emphasis to her declaration, Clara pushed the mysterious button that Alys had been trying to figure out the purpose of for ages.

And Lady Me imperiously decreed, "Our TARDIS has locked out your Manipulator from the Vortex."

Feeling not only betrayed by her Grandmum and one of the women she most admired, she looked at the central column of the console and asked the Diner TARDIS _et-tu-Brute_ style, "You can do that?"

When its rotor bobbed once, almost apologetically, she bitterly huffed, "Oh, of course you can, you're a sports car."

And feeling like a teenager all over again, which had been half her lifetime ago, she stormed off to wander the halls, in what essentially had become her prison.

~D~

 _Planet Barcelona, a few months later…_

Alys stopped playing with the noseless puppy that two Barcelonian children were selling, when she felt a familiar hum in her back pocket (relocated not to tickle).

 _Com Nev da._

She stared at it bewilderedly. She shook it like an Etch-a-Sketch, trying to get the missing letters (clearly 'e' and 'a' and possibly 't' and 'o' to complete 'Come to Nevada') and any specific coordinates or even a time reference to appear. But there was nothing.

It was almost like it was jammed. Just like her Vortex Manipulator.

Glancing up towards her grandmother where she stood with Clara eating gelato and admiring the local architecture (a mix of Old Earth Barcelona and modern tech advances), she saw Lady Me tucking a device surreptitiously into her pocket.

Losing interest in the dog, she returned it to the Barcelonian children and swiftly marched past the pair of tyrants back towards the TARDIS.

Oh how she wished she had looked up Dorian Moldavar and gotten Johnny his own manipulator for his birthday. If she had, she could ditch her two wardens and call him to come and pick her up. As it was, she was stuck with these two until she could convince them that it was safe.

As a means to that end, as soon as she got into her workshop in the Diner TARDIS, she began digging through her tool box, until she located her Magpie Electricals scanner.

She fiddled with it for few minutes and then passed it over the jammed message. It read: _Come to Nevada desert, Earth._ _36.736677, -114.229362_ _. 12/05/2015._

"Where and when does she want you to go now?" Clara asked, as she sat on a nearby workbench.

"Where and when you played mystery waitress," she answered quietly. She did so partly out of respect for her friend's feelings, knowing it would bring up her grief over her final goodbye to her best friend. She also did so, because she wanted to tone down the indignation she felt that her grandmother had tried to block the message from her.

Either her grandmother picked up on it or she was ready to duke it out with her granddaughter, because without preamble, she decreed from the doorway, "If you go now and discuss Clara with him, it could ruin the memory block and the Time-Lords will find both Clara and the Doctor."

Clara sighed resignedly, "If they were to find me, I would not be opposed to it. We all know that someday soon, I will have to return to the Raven." She fixed Alys with a pleading look, as she added, "I just don't want them to find the Doctor. It was bad enough that they forced him to endure 4.5 billion years in that confession dial, just to find out what he knew about the Hybrid. I don't want to imagine what they would do to punish him for breaking one of their most cardinal Time-Laws."

Her grandmother nodded along with this statement, looking deeply concerned.

Alys wanted to argue that the Doctor had clearly learned how to deal with his people before when breaking their rules and if that they were so worried about that, then they should never have risked the diner stunt, but she realized that it would be futile.

Clara, the Doctor's Impossible Girl, would always protect him. If she had to protect him from himself and his potentially disastrous friendship with the child of her goddaughter, she would.

And Me, while she talked of the importance of protecting the Doctor's timeline and of keeping him out of vindictive/justice-seeking Time-Lord hands, what she was really afraid of was losing another family member to the Doctor. As much as Me resented the Gallifreyan 'grease monkey' for stealing her daughter's heart, she hated the Doctor more for his allure, which drew her daughter onto the path that led to her doom.

While Me may not want him punished for the act that saved her friend and made it possible to have their adventures together, Alys suspected that either a small or a large part of Me reveled in the suffering he would experience if her granddaughter was not there when he 'so-called needed her'.

Alys did not point any of this out of course, as it would not help her case any.

She had long ago understood her mother's philosophy that with Grandmum at least, it was better to ask for forgiveness than permission.

With that in mind, she gave the performance of her life and acted as if she was capitulating.

Bowing her head, she said, "I don't want that either, so I'll stay away." But because they knew her too well and that giving in so easily would be a dead giveaway to her charade, she bargained, "But if his Old Girl calls for me for a time before Clara, which it could do as I have gone out of order before, would you please let me go?"

Clara and Grandmum shared a look, and then Me stated, "We won't un-lock your Manipulator, but we will take you there ourselves."

She looked as if she would protest and then gave a heavy sigh of resignation, "Agreed."

They left her to her own devices after that.

And in the silence of her workshop, she vowed, _"Don't you worry, my dear mad Doctor, my 'staying away' will only last until I can manage a work around, and then look how far we will run."_

* * *

 **A/N:** Thoughts? Favorite parts? Predictions as to where/when she will pop up next?

A bit flashback time-jump happy, I will admit. If you are interested in an Alys-Doctor timeline please let me know.


	13. A Reunion and a Blessing

_**Shadow to My Sorrows**_

* * *

 **A Reunion**

 **. &.**

 **A Blessing**

* * *

 _Varos, 2387_

The Doctor finished his haggling with the Zeiton-7 ore supplier and wondered if he had just sold his soul for a chance to fuel up Sexy.

He made a mental note to find another source for the rare mineral, since he always felt he needed to take six or so showers after interacting with this planet's morally dubious denizens.

As he headed towards the tube station, which would take him back to the dome where he parked his TARDIS, he saw _her_.

Early-thirties-something Alys was leaning against the railing of the stairway, decked out in that overly large bomber jacket of hers, some form-fitting navy blue jumpsuit, and steel-toed and buckled work boots. She was also peering out over a pair of dark aviator sunglasses at him, smiling at him impishly, while loudly blowing and popping giant pink bubblegum bubbles.

For a brief moment, he forgot that he was mad at her. Her overall aura of cheeriness was so disconcerting to the grumpy Varosians, who were giving her disgusted side-long glances and a wide-berth, that it was infectious to him.

When he drew up next to her, she greeted, "Hello again, Doctor."

"Hello," he returned. Not knowing if he wanted to hug her or shout at her, he blurted, "So where did you get that cowhide that is swallowing you whole?"

She laughed, as she pushed off from the railing and began walking with him, before explaining, "It's my friend Johnny's. Well, it _was_ his before I stole it."

"Stole it?"

"Hmmm… At first, it was given to me on loan, and then… well, he just came to accept the fact that I was never giving it back," she declared unapologetically, and with a happy grin, she added, "He'll be so chuffed that you noticed it."

"It's hard to miss as it is so disproportionate to your tiny person," he dryly remarked, and then curiously, he asked, "Will I ever meet this Johnny person of yours?"

She shoved her hands in her jacket pockets as she shrugged, "I dunno, but he would like that."

In the almost companionable silence that followed that, he finally blurted what he wanted to all along:

"I've met Me."

There was a slight fault in her step and an accidental swallowing of her bubblegum, before she coolly replied, "And how is dear old Grandmum?"

There were a lot of things that he could say to that, but he limited himself to a deadpanned: "Not as endearing as she was as Ashildr."

She snorted, "Ah, yes, she's very 'Immortal knows best, since I have lived a thousand lifetimes', isn't she?"

Her willingness to acknowledge her grandmother's identity confirmed for him that for her this was not only after Amy and Rory but now his Clara too, which only made him more furious with her, as his old rage boiled up from within him.

He had wandered and wandered. He had tried to find his TARDIS. He had tried to remember his Impossible Girl, his friend. And he had wondered where his Alyss-lass was at. He needed her. He _had_ needed her to warn him of Trap Street, but he had needed just her. And she had been nowhere to be found either. Until now. Why the bloody hell now and not then?

"It's a trait that seems to run in the family," he bit out harshly.

She said nothing to this. She didn't even deny it.

By now they had reached the TARDIS, so he stormed inside, grateful to finally have some privacy where he could give her both barrels.

As soon as she followed him into his lion's den and shut the door, he let loose.

"Clara's met the Raven, but you've known that, you have always known that, and you never thought to warn me!"

She looked momentarily stunned, as if he had slapped her, but she was able to overcome this and gamely hiss out her defense, "For me, it could have been a fixed point in time! If I were to warn you and if you changed something, then I might _never_ have existed."

"' _Might_ ' and ' _could have been_ ' being the key words there," he scoffed, and then he reminded her, "Time _can_ be rewritten."

"For _you_ maybe!" she shot back as she waved her hands wildly about in exasperation. "But I am not full-blooded Time Lord and am not Academy trained! How the hell should I know what is fixed and what can be rewritten?"

She had a point, but he was still in so much agonizing pain from his Clara-shaped hole that he refused to admit it. So he fired right back, growling, "You weren't even there afterwards. You always said that you would be there when I needed you the most. Well, _I needed you_. I needed you to help me remember her. I had this huge void. I couldn't remember how she laughed or talked or told stories. But you do. You could have told me, but you weren't there!"

"Neither was your TARDIS!"

It was such a ridiculous excuse that he cried bullshit. "My TARDIS does not need me to be there to send you messages!"

"She does when a newer modeled TARDIS has her communications jammed," she declared morosely.

He didn't know if it was the fact that she had suddenly stopped shouting back at him and looked to be close to tears or her actual explanation, but some of his fury dissipated as he tried to soak in what she was saying.

He just couldn't quite do it though, so he found himself stammering, "Who would -? Why would ?"

Shoulders slumped, she quietly answered, "So I wouldn't do that very exact thing. They didn't want me to risk jarring your memory."

While he absorbed the fact that 'they' was not only her grandmother but his Clara, she flashed him a hard smile, "But as soon as I found out though, this three-quarter Time-being and daughter of a TARDIS mechanic went to work. They can't stop me now."

All he could do was stare at her stunned and a bit sheepish, as she spun on her heel and called over her shoulder, "I don't know about you, but I need tea. And possibly something stronger. Do you want any?"

~D~

Alys, for a brief moment, took some satisfaction at the stupefied and sheepish expression on the Doctor's face. Besides the fact that it was so rarely there, he had hurt her with his bitter accusations.

But then she realized that the root cause of his shock was that it had never occurred to him that his Clara had taken part in preventing her from getting to him sooner after their final goodbye.

Knowing that they both needed a breather before she tried to fix this, she fell upon some of her coping mechanisms for situations like these.

"I don't know about you, but I need tea. And possibly something stronger. Do you want any?"

And perhaps she could dig up some chocolate too.

~.~

 _Diner TARDIS, less than 24 hours ago…_

There were footsteps outside her workshop, and as they drew closer, she shoved the jammed space-hopper tech into her coverall pocket and went back to her pet project of trying to build her own sonic screwdriver. The hardware was not all that difficult. It was all the software programming that was giving her issues.

But Clara Oswald was in no way fooled.

Once again, she strode into the room, plopped down on a nearby workbench without so much as a by-your-leave, and with an arched eyebrow, she knowingly inquired, "So have you figured out a way around the manipulator lockout yet?"

Alys looked up from the tablet with the infuriating coding to coolly ask the infuriating woman, "Do you expect me to tell you if I did?"

Clara shrugged indifferently and then even more nonchalantly examined her nails, before slyly declaring, "Only if you want to know where and when the Doctor went after I left him in Nevada."

Alys could only stare at the petite brunette in confusion, as she carried on, "He didn't stay there in Nevada, and I tracked where he beamed off to, just in case our great minds thought too much alike."

"Why would you tell me that? I thought you agreed with her that it was 'too dangerous'," she asked suspiciously, but not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth she tried to tone down her sneer on the last two words.

Apparently, Clara wasn't offended, as this time her shrug was dismissive as she admitted, "It is dangerous, but you aren't the impetuous girl who flitted about whenever she pleased like you once were."

Alys didn't even bother rolling her eyes at that last bit. Her Grandmum and Auntie Clara had thought their newly discovered adolescent family member took the 'go for a walk to cool down' strategy a bit too far when she would space-hop to places like Blackpool in the Crab Nebula for fish and chips, while she on the other hand had thought she didn't need permission from two human women. For one reason, while family, they were strangers to her, and for another, they in no way matched the qualifications of her parents. Her Time-Lord father and Vortex-child mother had trusted her enough to gift her with the Manipulator even before she reached her majority. This point of contention was so old and familiar that her friend Johnny nicknamed her 'flitter-mouse' because of it.

"I may not age," Clara continued, looking somewhat sheepish (a very rare thing), as she admitted, "But I act like all the great-aunts I know who doubt that the younger generation has any kind of wisdom."

Alys couldn't believe her ears, and she probably stared at the woman like a gape-mouthed idiot before she stuttered, "Y-you'll trust _me_ with the Doctor? Th-that _I'll_ look after him as well as _you_?"

Clara laughed, "Well, not as well as _me_ …" She preened with mock exaggeration, before more seriously asserting, "But you proved our worries wrong about your interactions with the Doctor _before_ he met us, so I am going to trust that you will do the same _after._ "

Alys wasn't really sure what to say. She was afraid if she did say anything she would jinx it. It had after all only taken nearly two decades for Clara to come to her point of view.

More softly, Clara confessed, "Also, Me and I need to let you go. We held on too tightly with your mother and lost her as a result. I don't want to do that again."

Seeing the pain of that forever grief in her aunt's eyes, she let her guard down and hugged her, and much to her relief, Clara gratefully hugged her back. Alys reveled in the feeling for a moment, and even more so, when her aunt murmured into her hair, "You aren't hiding your face from me, are you?"

Alys chuckled. Oh how she missed this. Clara gave the best hugs and snark. She hated to be at odds with this fantastically impossible woman.

Clara's stylish heeled boots had her slightly taller than her, so she found herself whispering into her collarbone, "No, and you're going to persuade Grandmum to your point of view, aren't you?"

The petite brunette, who managed everyone around her, laughed, "Don't I always?"

Alys gave Clara an extra grateful squeeze before pulling away from her. As she did so, she felt a piece of paper being slipped into the palm of her hand.

As soon as she finished reading the coordinates and the message that the jammer was out of commission due to conveniently spilled soda, she was grabbing her jacket and heading for the door.

Before it shut behind her, she heard her great-godmother murmur what sounded like, "Run, you clever girl, and be his friend…"

~.~

 _Meanwhile back in the Doctor's TARDIS…_

It didn't take him very long to join her for some tea. She added the seven packets of sugar that this incarnation liked, which ruined the flavor in her opinion, but whatever, before pushing his cup (a blue and gold 'leaning' Tower of Pisa mug) over to him.

"Irish it up?"

He flashed her a small self-deprecating smile, "No, today I like my liver."

They sat quietly and savored their tea. While this incarnation was like any other and loved the sound of his own voice, it seemed that the silver fox was more comfortable with silence.

She almost pointed this out, but then thought better of it. She wanted to see how long it would last.

(Longer than most, but not very. Two-thirds of a cup of tea, rather than two sips.)

"Speaking of alcohol…" he interjected leadingly. "Your favorite bar, it was the Rose & Crown?"

She resisted the urge to cheekily point out that they hadn't been speaking of alcohol or anything else for that matter, and instead, simply said, "Yes."

His menacing eyebrows furrowed, as if he were puzzling out a great mystery – like what the purpose was of a rubber duck.

"And your favorite bar maid was also known as Miss Montague, the governess?"

Ah. She could see where he was going with this, but she wasn't going to make it easy for him. That would be boring.

"Yes."

He scrutinized her speculatively. No doubt wondering if he was going to be praying for a 'no' any time soon as of yore.

He didn't scold her for her monosyllabic answers, however. He just pressed on, curiously asking, "Why? And why were you visiting the night we first met Vastra?"

She shrugged, and dropping the teasing tone, answered with blatant honesty, "Not surprisingly, I get into arguments with Grandmum, aside from my visiting you. The original Clara tends to side with her, usually because I am 'so young' and the daughter of the child that they raised together. I just wanted _a_ Clara to side with me."

No longer feeling defensive, she told her friend everything – from her two-part promise to her Grandmum and Clara all those years ago, which explained the real reason why she was not at Vastra and Jenny's wedding, to Clara helping her answer the TARDIS's call.

She gave him a few minutes to absorb all of this, while she made a second pot of tea. Once she completed the soothing ritual, she sat across from him at the kitchen-like table and began a new tale.

"So, she has a pert little nose and determined/stubborn pointy little chin and an attitude full of sass to match."

Pulled from his reverie, he stopped blowing on his tea to cool it to look at her and ask bewilderedly, "Who?"

She smiled over the rim of her cup, explaining, "Clara Oswin Oswald, of course."

His eyebrows went up in surprise, but a slow smile of dawning understanding spread across his face. With a 'please continue' gesture with his tea cup, he murmured, "Oh, but of course…"

~D~

As he listened to her tales of her interactions with the Rose & Crown Echo-Clara and with her great-godmother, he formed a mental picture of his Clara.

It didn't jog his memory. It was still like someone was describing a stranger to him. No, a better analogy would be that Alys was describing a character in a film that was a remake of an old Broadway play that he had seen long ago, and so he could remember the gist of the plot and the fond feelings he had towards the character, but not much else.

But it was good enough.

Her tales were so good that he was quite annoyed when he was alerted to the fact that his Zeiton-7 ore supply was ready for pick up.

He invited her to come along with him to collect it, and her mixed reaction – surprise that he would ask, joy, and hasty eagerness in accepting as if she was afraid he would rescind his offer – made him feel all sorts of guilty.

She had always called him her 'mad Doctor', and he had always assumed that 'mad' meant 'brilliantly crazy' or 'crazy brilliant' depending on the situation. Now, however, he wondered if some of the time at least, she was referencing how often he had been cross, bitter, or downright furious with her.

He opened his mouth to ask, but she beat him to the punch with, "So why park the TARDIS in this dome and not nearer to your supplier?"

"I have been here a few times, and at least on one occasion, I have left a – shall we say – _lasting_ impression. So even though I have a different face, the descendants of my former suppliers may recall the stories of their fathers and grandfathers of the 'man with the blue box ship', and well…" he drifted off with a shrug. What more really needed to be said?

But of course, Alys _had_ to say it.

With a knowing grin, she teased, "Inevitable trouble will ensue," and then with an even wider smile, she patted the arm that was looped through his encouragingly, as she added, "Sounds like fun."

"Yes, well…" he hedged, as he couldn't deny it, and he moved on to the next question that he had been wanting to ask. "Do you have a key yet?

Her grip on his arm briefly tightened and her breath hitched, before she hesitantly answered, "For your TARDIS? No, I gave it back after… well, you know."

He did know. When he had recovered from his hangover, he had noticed the key that he had given her so she could retrieve the Old Girl was sitting on the tea tray that Jenny had set in front of him.

Pulling himself from that dark memory, he fished around in his pocket until he found it again. He handed it to her saying, "Feel free to use it any time – " And then realizing he was talking to someone who liked to hang out with _Jack_ , he added with mock-sternness, "Any time that I am here, of course. No absconding with the Old Girl for your purposes, Alys-lass."

She laughed good-naturedly as she tucked the key into her jumper breast pocket, mildly protesting, "The Old Girl likes me, but I don't think that much."

The Doctor flashed back to how much his TARDIS had preferred her over him when they were popping between pocket universes, but he said nothing. For one, this hadn't happened for her yet, and for another, he really didn't want to admit it.

Instead, he said somberly, "You should also know that I trust you."

At first, she didn't say anything to this, partly because they were exiting the tube station and merging with the second dome's pedestrian traffic, but mostly he surmised because she was speechless.

She practically stopped mid-stride to ask him cautiously, "You trust me to…?"

Feeling guilty that he had made her need him to elaborate beyond that, he declared significantly, "To not end the universe if you pop in when _you_ need _me_ ," and even more significantly, he hinted, " _And_ even if the TARDIS does not call ahead."

Her big brown eyes widened even further in surprise, and then immediately narrowed, as she looked at him speculatively, "I've already done that, haven't I?"

He gave her a small sly smile, reveling in the fact that for once he gets to be the mysterious one, as he answered enigmatically, "And on a technicality you don't quite break your other promise to our mutual friends."

His petite friend was gazing up at him curiously, trying to puzzle out his meaning, when all sorts of things began happening.

There was commotion from above, startled shouts from workmen.

Alys's eyes widened. But he couldn't discern their expression as they were suddenly standing in a shadow.

Alys was adding her voice to the commotion, shouting, " _Doctor!_ "

Alys was pushing him out of the way.

Out of the way – of a falling piano.

He could see that she was not going to make it.

The laws of physics were going to prevent him from pulling her with him out of the _kersplat!_ zone.

So he slapped his hand on her space-hopping wrist band before his momentum from her shove had her out of his reach.

He heard a _sizzle_ and a _fizz-pop!_

And then a great grinding _crunch_ , as the piano crashed onto the metal walkway at his feet.

For a few double heartbeats, he was afraid that he had lost yet another friend and that this time it had been in an almost tragically cartoonish fashion, but his centuries-old eyes did not find any evidence of Alys's blood.

His fear skipped from relief and straight into wrath, which he was prepared to vent full-force on the careless crane-operators, but was stopped when his awareness moved beyond the fallen piano.

The crane-operators above and the surrounding crowd of spectators – above, below, and on all sides of him, all of whom had previously been human – were now _lizards_.

Giant, bipedal lizards.

And not the reasonable (as in able to be reasoned with) Silurians.

But nightmarish, slimy-scaled and hungry red-eyed lizards.

Pulling out his sonic screwdriver, he muttered:

"Oh, not again."

* * *

 **A/N:** The setting to this chapter is brought to you by the classic Doctor Who episode _Vengeance on Varos_ (not mine) and the following intriguing comment of the Doctor's in _Husbands of River Song_ :

The Doctor (to Nardole): "I'm never sure. I don't like being sure about things. One minute you're sure, the next everybody turns into lizards and a piano falls on you."

Hope you enjoyed : )


	14. The Name of His Shadow

_**Shadow to My Sorrows**_

* * *

 **The Name of his Shadow**

* * *

 _St. Luke's University, Bristol, 1985_

Alys glanced around the cluttered office. Disappointingly, no one was there. Encouragingly, it was the right office. On his desk, there was a mug of screwdrivers and framed pictures of River and Susan, and in one corner, leaned his Axe guitar.

She was examining the distinctly empty space in another corner, when through the window she caught sight of a short bald figure who was carrying _two_ thermoses and a to-go bag of chips and who was being far too casual in his waddling across the quad below. She raised her scanner and did a quick snapshot of his vitals. Sure enough, he had a lower than average body temperature, and well, a cybernetic body. Shiny.

Thanking the 'Verse that all of her River-style archeological research had paid off, she space-hopped herself to the roof above and raced to the edge, just in time to see her mad Doctor's little Humpty-Dumpty man disappear into the side door below.

She did a quick glance around making sure no one would be able to witness her next move, and then she space-hopped again to the alley below. She used her scanner again to check for any security settings, and was amused to see that it was set to 'Friends Only.'

She was even more amused at herself when she felt a wave of relief at being able to open the rusted steel door and without any alarms blaring. She was 'his Alys' after all, why wouldn't she be considered a friend? He was hers, a fact of which, she was counting on.

Through the gloom of this abandoned section of the university, she could hear the distant conversation of the Doctor and his strange companion echoing back to her.

 _"You brought chips, yeah?"_

 _"Yes, Doctor. The waffle cut kind, just like you asked."_

 _"And tea?"_

 _"And the tea. The blue thermos is yours."_

 _"Why? What's the difference?"_

 _"Mine has coffee in it."_

 _"Coffee?"_

 _"Coffee. It adds flavor. You should try it sometime, instead of that ridiculous amount of sugar that you put into yours. Makes it tea syrup it does."_

If she had been in the mood to be sociable, she would have revealed herself at that moment and given this blasphemous tea-drinker a piece of her mind. Coffee in tea? Sacrilege!

But she wasn't. So she snuck back down the hallway, up the stairs, out the door, and tucked herself into the pile of discarded odds and ends that always seem to accumulate in back alleyways like this, and she waited.

Eventually, after what seemed like hours but what her chronometer told her was only perhaps 42 minutes and 23 seconds, Nardole exited, muttering to himself about ungrateful old men and Mistresses, as he went about his business.

As soon as he had disappeared around the corner, she disentangled herself from her hiding spot and did a few stretches to relieve her cramped muscles before heading inside again.

Unsurprisingly, in the depths below, there were the to-be-expected piles of rubbish, broken furniture, old paint cans, and such amidst the dusty cement-covered brick walls and pillars of a building basement.

Unexpectedly however, there was also a fancy door with a big high-tech lock on it, but no Doctor.

Now usually, this was the part where she would stick her nosy-nose where it didn't belong and examine the shit out of shiny Door #2. But she was a woman on a mission, and so she only gave it a cursory glance before heading straight for Door #1.

Breathing out a sigh of relief that the TARDIS had not dematerialized anywhere yet, she let herself in with her key.

And there sitting on the steps that led up to the console platform and munching away at his chips was the Doctor.

He greeted her quietly with, "So I've been to the Singing Towers of Darillium."

She stopped halfway to the stairs and stared warily at him. In the past, he would have said this accusingly, and the implied 'Where have you been?' would have been intoned with hurt and rage, not – _curiosity._

As he looked at her expectantly, she could see that his ages-old eyes were filled with hurt and sadness from his loss and grief, but not bitter resentment towards her. He genuinely wished to know what she had been doing during his 24 years of continuous River companionship.

Relieved that he did not seem mad at her for not returning after the piano, that he understood that since the TARDIS had not called her back she could not go and saddened that this was his When that she had stumbled upon, she drew up and sat next to him whispering, "Oh. So she's…?"

"Yeah," he confirmed with a sigh.

Noticing that the pain in that sigh resembled that of a dull ache rather than a sharp one, she asked softly, "How long?"

He actually set aside his bag of chips so that his hands were free for him to count on his fingers, an action which filled her with a sense of dread. She had been gone that long? After River?

"Well, it was not too long after that the Executioners subpoenaed me…and Nardole and I have been guarding Her…" he jabbed his thumb back at the view-screen, which displayed the giant safe door (or _prison_ door, she supposed), as he answered, "…for a decade or two, I think."

"And _she_ is?"

"Missy, an alive Missy, not a dead one. I am calling this Project Rehabilitation. Chip?"

Alys really didn't quite follow that last bit – the 'project' part, not the offer of chips part (which she declined with a wave of her hand). She thought it might mean that he was guarding Missy's incarcerated (but not dead) body in the hopes of converting – _scratch that, since he's not a Cyberman …_ _persuading, yes persuading is a better word –_ persuading her to the Light Side.

This idea filled her both with worry and cynical amusement - for either this will be a 1000 year long con on Missy's part or it will take that long to 'rehabilitate' her or whatever.

What preoccupied her the most however was the realization that the TARDIS had not thought the Doctor needed her after River. She had thought he needed Missy.

It was a sign of how frazzled she felt that she plopped down next to him and blurted without thinking, "So the Old Girl thought that it would take a psychopath to get over a psychopath?"

Her frowny-eyebrowed Doctor scowled at her and then scowled at his TARDIS and then scowled at her again in reaction to her impertinent, if accurate observation.

She was not sure if he was offended by her diagnosis of his wife (even if it was the one that she gave herself), by the TARDIS's choice of companion for him, or by the possibility that there was truth in her assessment of the situation. Whatever the case may be, she was just grateful that he at least had not bellowed at her for her absence. In her current frame of mind, she was not sure she could take it.

His scowls of course were for none of those reasons.

Stiff with the posture of one who has lived a life with the other shoe dropping along with hostile enemy-infested shit-storms, he asked warily, "If you didn't know about River, then why are you here?"

Leaning over and placing her head on his bony shoulder, she whispered hoarsely:

" _I_ need _you_."

~D~

Her hoarse confession was so wretched and filled with such devastation that he froze.

He hadn't been expecting it for one. When he first saw her be-decked in full 1980s togs (loose-fitting black palazzo pants held up by suspenders and paired with a ruffled green top, bowling shoes, giant hoop earrings, and strongly-encouraged-to-be-voluminous curls), he had thought she was 'detouring' with Clara and her Grandmum and was coming to run interference so their paths would not cross, or better yet, that she was space-hopping about with Johnny and had stumbled on to some intriguing mystery or shenanigans and was enlisting his help to investigate.

But this was clearly not any of _that._ And he was not sure exactly what to do.

The three incarnations prior to this one had been much better with physical contact and emotions. He had relied on Clara to be his 'Carer', and River – well, she was River, and she had never set about to try to change him. So he felt woefully inadequate in this situation in which he was expected to be the Comforter. Their roles were generally reversed.

He decided to start off small.

Step one: abandon chips and wipe greasy hands on pants. There was no need after all to ruin her (for once) time accurate finery.

And step two: lace one set of his phalanges through hers and wrap his other arm around her suddenly trembling shoulders.

These actions seemed to do the trick, because as soon as she was securely tucked into his side like a wounded baby bird under a mother's wing and he had given her hand a brief reassuring squeeze with his own, she managed between giant gulping breaths to rasp out:

"He's dea– ... My best mate is … is dead."

Only knowing of one other best male mate aside from himself in her life, he clarified gently, "Johnny?"

She nodded her head against his shoulder, and as if that silent gesture is what broke the dam, the sobs that she had been valiantly holding back burst forth. Eventually, she was able to gasp between whimpering sniffles:

"Ye- yes. Th-they killed him. I c-couldn-n't get t-to him in t-time to st-stop them."

Briefly letting go of her hand, he pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket and placed it on her lap just in case she wanted it, causing her to mutter something along the lines of _'of course you would'_ , before he asked even more gently, "What happened, Alys?"

With her free hand, she used the handkerchief and cleared out her congested nasal passages, before beginning her tale.

With a few halting stops and tearful starts, she told of taking her friend to a game of "Q'Ditch", where teams on levitating boards or sticks play a bizarre mix of rugby, football, dodgeball, and fetch, for his retirement party.

Johnny apparently was – had been – an army medic of sorts, and had been planning on applying for a sports medicine program at university or becoming an on-board medic on a cruise liner 'for kicks' until he figured what he would do after his time with the army was over.

But all his possible futures had ended when after the game he had been mugged by a gang of 'fish-faces' and 'beaky mutant turtles', (by which he interpreted to mean members of the Blowfish race and the Chelonian race). He did not chide her for her political incorrectness however, not even he was that insensitive.

She broke down into inconsolable sobs as she tried to explain why she had not been near him, how the thugs had gotten away, and how she did not know why they had not simply taken his 'creds' and gone without bloodshed.

"Th-there w-w-was so m-mu-much blood! H-h-his jacket was cov'red innit, and it's – and it's still at the cl-cleaners."

His dormant inner-Ten woke up at this point. Her choking sobs were so reminiscent of her recently orphaned teenage self that he acted almost on autopilot.

Scooping her distraught form up into his wiry arms, he headed immediately in the direction of a corridor. He was sure that there would be a 'comfy place' that would turn up soon.

Sure enough one did. But instead of the library with its many cozy chairs or one of the spare bedrooms, the TARDIS lead him straight to Alys's room.

It looked a little barren from when he last saw it, when she was forty-something and married. Now in her mid-thirties, there were none of the TARDIS component parts, diagrams, and books from the library from her time between pocket universes. It did however still have her outfits from their first adventures with healing Vastra and her artwork left behind from her childhood sneak-into-the-TARDIS days, which his Old Girl must have horded like a magpie.

He gently set her on the bed, and then bent down and unlaced her vintage green and white bowling shoes, while she shrugged out of her suspenders. After her shoes were off and carefully tucked away, she scooted to the middle of the bed, making room for him.

The change in location seemed to have helped, because her gut-wrenching sobs were now reduced to the occasional sniffle, a sporadic shudder, and a trail of leaking tears.

For a while, they just sat there in companionable silence, backs to the headboard and legs sprawled out in front of them, gazing quietly about the room. When he detected that she had finally caught her breath, he said encouragingly, "Tell me about him."

There was a thin watery chuckle of "Is that an order, Doctor?", but then without further encouragement from him, just like she had / would one day do when he asked about her wife, she began at the beginning.

She told of when she had first met him.

"There was an incursion of those Nestene plastic peoples. I zapped him with a taser – "

Startled, he blurted out incredulously, "You tasered him? With electricity?"

"No, with good vibes. What else?" she snarked.

Ignoring this, he persisted, "What for?"

"I thought he was one of them. He was just too darn pretty to be real."

"Too pretty?" he repeated, not quite believing his ears.

Annoyed, Alys jabbed him in the ribs, "Yes, Doctor! Too pretty. He's all tall, broad shouldered, and velvety black smooth skinned. He made me think of a jaguar, the power and grace of him."

It was such an incredibly flowery statement that he could not seem to stop himself from dryly commenting, "Jaguar? I thought it was the Nestene he resembled."

There was another pointed rib jab and an overly prim rebuke: "Quit interrupting, jealous green is not a good color on you."

Over his protesting huffs and snorts, she continued, "Anyways, his patient, whom he had been leaning over to help at the time and not attacking like I thought, set me straight. He at least though appreciated my reasoning."

"And your Johnny?"

"Not so much," she chuckled both evilly and fondly. "He wasn't the strong silent type, and boy, did I discover right quick that he had a mouth on him. I think I fell in love with him then. I am such a sucker for a man with a gob..."

She told of him being with her at the Silurian-Human Peace Talks, and how he reacted when they joined the humans who first arrived at New New York and he met his first Catkind.

 _"…He sneezed a lot, and apologized some more, and they forgave him, because he out-flirted even Jack…a trait that the Silurian warriors were not as appreciative of..."_

She told of him being there for her, when she learned New New York had gone into quarantine and she knew that Jack would die soon and she would never see 'old Boe Face again'.

 _"…It was then he introduced me to the wonders of my now second favorite bar."_

She told him of the backstory behind the bomber jacket.

 _"…I just got the Old Girl's message to go to La Bella Donna, and I knew from your hint that night at Vastra's and Jenny's that I would be meeting either your Ninth or Tenth self. And I was terrified. I didn't know how you would react so early in your timeline…He laughed in my face, told me I was 'overthinking it', plopped his jacket on me so that - and I quote: 'So you can take a bit of my courage with you', and then he hit the send button on my Manipulator! ... His defense when I returned was that he was 'doing what every mama-bird does for her chick when teaching it to fly'."_

Recalling that seemingly overly confidant know-it-all chit that he had first met that day, he couldn't help but be amazed at how well she had flown.

He also chided himself for not then, nor since then, realizing that she had been so full of bluff and bluster at the time in order to compensate for how intimidated she had been and might still sometimes be. He knew from River after all how disconcerting it was to meet him out of order.

By now, they were lying down on their sides facing each other, hands nestled underneath their cheeks, her teary brown eyes mere centimeters from his guilt-filled blue ones. It required barely any effort on his part to reach over and tuck back a stray curl behind her ear.

When it seemed she had no more stories to tell at the moment, he asked, echoing her words of yore, "Do you wanna get bloody drunk?"

Alys lay there silently for a few moments, as she carefully considered his question, and then while her eyes spoke volumes, her mouth only pleaded desperately, "No, just hold me."

And so he held his Alys, all night long.

~D~

Alys woke late the next morning to find herself tucked beneath the bedcovers, a fresh set of '80s style clothes on a nearby chair, and the Doctor coming through her door with a tray laden with fruit, eggs, bacon, and tea.

She was almost not certain as to what the most important item on that tray was – the bacon or the tea.

As if he read her mind, the Doctor advised, "If you eat at least one piece of bacon first, you won't burn yourself on the tea. It's freshly brewed and verra hot."

Taking into consideration that by now he had to have gained some kind of modicum of wisdom on these kinds of matters, she did as he suggested.

Over a mouthful of crispy deliciousness, she inquired, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Sitting in her desk chair, he flipped open the morning edition of Bristol's _Western Daily Press_ , and harrumphed, "I know you. The only way I am going to make it to noon is if you have your morning cuppa and food in your belly."

His tone was so acerbic and he looked so grumpy and put upon as he uttered this truth, that she found herself huffing a small little laugh, which surprised her, as she thought that she would not laugh again for decades.

When she noticed that he had skipped the headlines and headed straight for the funnies, she quipped, "Your likelihood of survival will increase if you hand over the part of that you are not reading."

Wordlessly, he did, and so they sat there, him reading his funnies (not so wordlessly, as he gave frequent commentary), seemingly reluctantly amused at _Brickman_ and _Sweeney Toddler_ , despairing of and miffed at _Doomlord_ , and fascinated by _Mastermind_ and _Cliff Hanger_ ; while she read the daily news, trying to imagine the Doctor living his life out in this little community the long way around.

All idyllic moments must come to an end though.

If she stayed here any longer in the company of her Doctor, she might never leave to help out the family of her medic. Johnny's sister, single mother of her own pair of Sweenie Toddlers, had been counting on him being around more to help her out. The Doctor had Nardole and his rehabilitation project with Missy. Annie had no one but her now.

While she slowly changed behind the folding screen, she tried to come up with some way to tell him, but she needn't have bothered. After she twirled around to show him that he had 'done good' in choosing her outfit of ripped jeans and an off-the-shoulder bright blue jumper (despite the fact that it clashed with her green and white bowling shoes), he took one look at her face and he knew.

"You have to go."

Even though it was more observation than question, she said, "Yes, I do. I – There are – "

He shook his silver head, dismissing her stammered and uncompleted reasons, and clarified, "No, you should go. You should go and be happy. Check out a 'little shop' or two, and be awesome."

She was finding herself getting all choked up again at this, and it didn't help when he cautioned her, "And when you do pop-in to see me, just remember that you will probably have to remind me from time-to-time that it is not always about me."

Not knowing how else to thank him for the gift of this past night, for his willingness to be there for her in her hour of need, she threw herself at him and gave him the fiercest hug her tiny frame could manage.

And then she bounced up on to the very tips of her toes and whispered into his ear, _"My name is Saiya Faris."_

When she landed on her feet, she took a moment to revel in his gob smacked expression, and then she was racing out the door, calling over her shoulder, "But I'm still _your_ Alys!"

And just before the TARDIS door shut behind her, she heard his Scottish-accented holler of: "Always!"


	15. Shadow's Fall

_**Shadow to My Sorrows**_

* * *

 **Disclaimer:** There is a tiny bit of a cross-over with the animated movie _Titan A.E.,_ (which I do not own). If the Doctor were to pop-up in my life, nebula stingrays would be one of the things that I would want to see.

And now for the feature presentation...

* * *

 **Shadow's Fall**

* * *

He had escaped that twice cursed moment, but not his fate.

He was minutes, possibly only seconds, away from dying.

And then…

There was the blessed sound of a _sizzle fizz-pop_ and the sight of grandkid-bedazzled orthopedic shoes glittering in the snow.

After trailing over the rest of her sensible outfit (buckskin-colored slacks, a driftwood cane, and, this time, a butter-cream and navy colored jumper), his scared blue eyes finally met her tired brown peepers, and he croaked out:

"I stopped running."

From beneath her silver curls, those tired dark eyes sparked with pleasure. "You took a stand."

"I took a stand and fell," he confessed, both proud and regretful.

Reaching over with one thin, frail, and translucent hand, she breathed, "But I am here to catch you, my dear Doctor."

~.~

Alys led him back into the TARDIS and called out, "Take us here and then, Old Girl!", and then the brazen woman croakily rattled off some coordinates.

The TARDIS did as instructed, but all the while, she made a screeching protesting noise, shook, rattled, and rolled. Sparks flew. And they barely managed to hold onto the walkway railing in their weakened conditions.

"What are you DOING?!" he shouted at her (or the TARDIS, or both) over the noise, except for the last word, which sounded louder than the others, because now there was no noise.

Slowly making her way up to the console to check over the damage, she answered with just as much cheek at the age of 80+, as she did when she was 15, "Would you believe I am killing two birds with one stone – helping you redecorate in here and taking a little field trip?"

Having long ago learned that it was best not to encourage her impudence, he pressed, "Where are we?"

"Trygon Nebula."

"Why?"

"To see the Wake Angels. That's always been on my bucket list. So three birds, one stone," she chirped happily, while she puttered around the slightly smoking console.

"That's impossible," he protested with a disbelieving scoff. "There are no more Wake Angels this side of the Gallifrey Time-Lock."

Undaunted, she continued her systems check, while explaining, "I thought so too, but then I stumbled upon a painting of them. My wife and I attempted to track down the artist, but we were only able to manage to find his friend – a pretty green-eyed blonde woman. This was the next best thing though, as she still had his notes, which contained the coordinates to this here pocket universe."

A pocket universe, which must be out of sink with their time, as their thinning skins were glowing less, meaning the regeneration energy was slowing down – lovely.

He must have uttered this out loud, because she beamed over at him, "Yes, it is, and we're in luck, the gravity bubble and atmospheric shields survived the journey. We'll be able to have front row seats."

Seeing as her actions were delaying his regeneration and allowing him more time with her before hers – which after his encounter with her at Ebenezer Station, he thought he never would have, he decided to quit being a party pooper and help her search for her gaseous stingrays.

It didn't take them long. While Wake Angels looked like an Earth stingray but with the transparent fluid-like quality of a jellyfish, they sounded like whales and acted like dolphins. So really it was a toss-up between the curious Nebula-dwelling race and his TARDIS's sonar as to who found whom first.

As soon as they did though, she was hobbling over to the door, and then she was sitting much like Donna and Brian had done before her, feet dangling and staring out in awe and fascination.

Truth be told, he was just as mesmerized as she was as they watched the indigo, pink, and lilac-colored Angels dance around the TARDIS and through the nebula's orange and rust-colored gaseous columns and pillars.

He wasn't sure how long they sat like that, but eventually Alys's curiosity got the better of her and she bluntly asked, "So what did you in this time?"

Not really wanting to go into detail, he grunted, "Cybermen," and before she could ask about Missy, he asked, "How is the wife taking the impending new face?"

He felt Alys stiffen, and he regretted his cavalier question immediately, suspecting the answer before she flatly declared, "I wouldn't know, as I am rather a widow now."

"Oh, Alys…" he breathed sorrowfully. "How long…?"

With a pat of her hand on his knee, _she_ comforted _him_ (unbelievable yet predictable), and wistfully shared, "Oh, it's been a few years. She had a stroke in her sleep and went rather peacefully. Much to her disappointment, I think, as she always romanticized the idea of going out with a bang of some kind. I think the metaphorical kind. But you know, I was never really sure if she meant literally too."

Not sure how to ask if it was because her wife's death was so peaceful or some other reason as to why she did not feel the need to come see him like she had after Johnny's more gruesome passing, he stammered, "How come – how come…?"

"How come I didn't come visit you any time after that?" she supplied knowingly. When he nodded, she explained, "My tribe needed me. But I have said my goodbyes now."

And then she told of not only being a step-grandmother but also a great-grandmother and a 'Great-Tia' through Johnny's niece and nephew.

Recalling his adventures with his precocious granddaughter Susan and more recently his time with Bill, he could well imagine that she was needed. He even regaled her with a story or two, which caused her to tell him a few, and before either one of them knew it, hours had possibly passed as they played a game of one-upmanship for who had the 'scariest' of grandparent 'horror' stories.

But not even here, in this majestic universe, could they escape their inevitable deaths.

This fact was brought home to them when a bubble of regeneration energy escaped from Alys mid-guffaw.

He didn't know which hurt worse – hearing her laughter die or seeing the fear in her eyes, as she asked, "Do you still get scared about – about changing into someone else?"

And because she deserved the truth, he admitted as kindly as he could, "Every time, and it gets harder every time."

She snorted, "Well, that's honest."

He shrugged, somewhat helplessly. He was out of words of comfort. In their dynamic, that was more her thing than his.

And of course, true to form, after a few moments, she was offering what solace she could in his darkest moment, saying wistfully, "Perhaps, it won't be so bad, if we know that we'll both be getting to know our new selves together?"

He squeezed her hand, causing another puff of golden light to escape and his hearts to ache for her even more. "Maybe, I hope so."

She smiled wanly at him, "Hope is good. It's better than fear."

"Yeah, it is…" he murmured, drifting off in thought, as her words sparked something in him – an epiphany.

Alys's words echoed to him from the past:

 _"My point is I have a friend who has a similar date with destiny… Anyways, she still runs but a different kind of running…She runs to and not from… She's able to enjoy every moment of her journey without resisting the inevitable destination."_

He and Clara were much alike. Maybe they could alike in this too.

"I don't want to live in fear anymore."

"You what?" she asked him, bewildered and/or startled by his out of the blue declaration.

"I don't want to live in fear anymore, especially my last moments," he repeated and clarified, and then standing up and holding out his hand, he asked, "So what say you that we rip off this Band-Aid?"

~D~

It didn't take her long to figure out what he was getting at, and it didn't take long for them to replace the few fried circuit boards that her little detour had cost them. A fact, she was extremely grateful for. She was a woman who preferred action over doom, gloom, and dread-filled waiting.

But as soon as they popped back into 'real-time', she stumbled to all fours, feeling like a thousand suns were ready to go supernova beneath her paper thin and wrinkled skin.

He didn't look much better as he was bent over double, hands on his bony knees, hissing harsh grunts right next to her collapsed form.

Knowing that they both had very little time left, she gasped out something that had been on her mind for ages and was not sure if her new self would have the courage or the desire to say it.

"I know that – that we've used the Al- Alice and Mad Hatter analogy to – to describe – our relationship over the years, but – but I think… _Oh stars above, that bloody hurts!_ "

Thankfully, he didn't try to tell her to breathe through the agony. Instead, he tried to distract her by prompting, "You think what?"

"I think we're more like – forgive yet another Disney analogy - more like Peter Pan and his Shadow."

She pulled her gaze up from the grating floor to see his reaction, and saw much to her relief, that while his mouth was twisted into a pained grimace, his eyes twinkled with mischief as he rasped, "Neither are tru-truly Disney. Both written before Walter Elias was – was out of his nappies."

Although his comment might indicate that he had missed her point entirely, his expressive blue eyes told a different story - filled with such fierce _knowing_ , as they were.

With a small relieved smile, she breathed out tremulously, "Never let me go?"

Lifting one of his energy radiating hands to double cross his hearts, he vowed, "You are not only forever stitched to my running shoes, Saiya, but to my hearts as well."

She nodded gratefully her acceptance of his word, and then reaching over to her fallen cane, she used it to pull herself up to a kneeling position and challenged, "On three?"

"One," he growled.

"Two," she wheezed.

"Three!" they shouted.

~.~

Her cells exploded. Light exploded. They exploded. She was pretty sure her brain exploded from the excruciating agony alone.

The TARDIS didn't explode, much to the relief of the universe. Only a few 'small' fires broke out.

Yeah, the Old Girl was going to need a new make-over again.

When she was no longer seeing spots, she twirled and looked down at herself and then back up at the Doctor, who shouted simultaneously with her:

"Ginger!"

As enthralled as she was that the floor appeared to be a lot farther away (which meant that she was taller), that the hand holding her cane was no longer gnarled (which meant she did not need it – the cane that is), and that her hand's sunspots and her silver curls had been exchanged for freckles and long wavy copper-red locks (which meant _she_ was the ginger), she- _Saiya_ was far more fascinated by the tall, green-eyed blonde _she-_ Doctor who stood across from her, staring at her accusingly.

"Woman!" Saiya accused right back.

The 13th Doctor waved her hand dismissively, "Although gender is not as binary as you humans presuppose, there is _generally_ a 50-50 chance that I will be on one end of spectrum or the other. It's far more impressive to have the genetic composition that produces such a rare phenotype."

This very adult and scientific response was ruined when she added tetchily, "And you, Saiya, beat me to the punch!"

At this, Sexy's console fizzed and sparked, and her cloister bell alarm rang long and loud. Clearly, she did not like to be ignored.

They eyed one another speculatively, and seemed to mutually agree that neither one of them could successfully compete with the TARDIS for being queen of prima donna drama.

With mirroring self-deprecating smirks, they declared a silent truce and got to work.

But, oh what fun would they have, Thirteen and her fiery Shadow and their sexy Blue Box.

 _'Watch out, Universe, because here we come.'_

* * *

 **A/N:** Well, thank you for joining me on this journey. I hope you enjoyed this final installment. If you did, review por favor.

If you are interested in reading (or at least knowing) the chapters in Alys' chronological order, I included the list below.

 _Alys's timeline_

 **1.** **Ch. 3 & 4**

 **(i)** brief description in **Chapter 14** \- Alys meets her friend Johnny

 **2.** **Ch.6-8**

 **3.** **Ch.2**

 **(A)** **Ch. 12a**

 **(B)** **Ch.12b**

 **4.** **Ch. 9**

 **(ii)** brief description in **Chapter 14** \- Johnny gives Alys his jacket

 **5**. **Ch. 1**

 **6.** **Ch. 10**

 **(C)** **Ch. 12c**

 **(D) Ch.12d**

 **(E)** **Ch.13b**

 **7\. Ch.13a &c**

 **8.** **Ch14**

 **(iii)** brief description in **Ch. 11** – Alys meets her wife

 **9.** **Ch. 11**

 **10.** **Ch. 5**

 **11.** **Ch. 15**

 _Ciao!_


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